


Of Ginger and Spice

by MelanijaParadis



Series: The Stelliform Chronicles [4]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anniversary, Ballroom Dancing, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing Lessons, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Europe, F/F, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Gardens & Gardening, Humor, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Music, Islands, Lesbian Character of Color, Lesbian Sex, Magic and Science, Marriage Proposal, Menstruation, New York City, Oral Sex, OverWitch - Freeform, Portuguese, Pregnancy, Restaurants, Romance, Science Experiments, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Humor, Sexual Metaphors, Sexual Tension, Smut, Summer Vacation, Travel, Villain Character Death, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 63,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanijaParadis/pseuds/MelanijaParadis
Summary: This is Part II to On Lorenz Theory & Love. Three years later, Macy and Harry navigate life as a married couple, alternating between the Azores Islands and Vera Manor. Since Macy's daughter Maya is so precocious, how hard could a 2nd pregnancy be? Meanwhile, Abigael and Mel live in NYC, want kids, and nobody trusts Abigael with their own. A suspected Sarcana rebel strikes. Harry spirits Macy away to Portugal. At Casa do Alentejo, Harry and Macy learn Kizomba. They reignite their passion hours later in the deserted dance hall. While teaching at her NYC studio, Rani is notified of her Great-Aunt Celeste's murder and investigates with girlfriend Nico. Abigael and Mel share a steamy scene. Abigael begins tutoring Maya. Abigael hosts dinner for Rani and Nico, forcing Mel to confront her past. Harry and Macy speak in erotic double entendres. Mel invites Abigael to a 5:53 am dance and proposes. Harry offers to remove Macy's C-section scar. Macy debates how to protect Maya from her own magic. Throughout, Macy must learn to accept help from others, including a past arch-nemesis. (*Note: Matias, Morgana, Dora, Della, Darcy, Denis, Terezinha, Maya, Tory, Matilda, Henry, and Rani are my imagination) HM2V/H2M3V: Hacy chapters ;)
Relationships: Abigael Jameson-Caine/Mel Vera, Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn, Jordan Chase & Maggie Vera
Series: The Stelliform Chronicles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813234
Comments: 16
Kudos: 19





	1. HM2V: Verdant Paradise

1: HM2V: Verdant Paradise

_8 pm, Three Years Later, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room Couch_

_Sleep deprivation_. Those words summed up the past couple of years—the cozy, fur-laden numbness of Macy’s upper cerebral cortex from having woken up countless times for her daughter’s midnight feedings and consolation of colicky tears, that trickled downward into her heady spine, concentrated itself in the stiffness of upper shoulders that could only come from hoisting a toddler up in the air, and plunged itself into her very own muscles and joints, rendering her eyes incapable of doing anything but drift into a most peculiar slumber…

_After dropping into spiraling darkness, akin to Alice in Wonderland, she regained her footing, walking slowly, feeling her way through the pitch black path with the palms of her hands touching the tunnel’s surprisingly smooth, polished edges. Where was she? Where was this path taking her? Suddenly, her right foot made abrupt contact with an ancient, rough-hewn door overgrown with inveigling ivy branches. She stopped in her tracks, realizing that the tunnel had announced its unceremonious end. She knew she ought to be concerned—perhaps terrified? But she somehow felt at peace, oddly enough._

_Without hesitating, she turned the doorknob, which creaked ever-so-slightly, and stepped into what she recognized to be Vera Manor Garden, with its blooming gardenias and greenery. She noticed that there were more verdant flora and fauna about; astonished, she observed a row of emerging ginger root along with orange tree buds on the cusp of blossoming, that would someday bear sweet, aromatic fruit. The scent of honey, cardamom, and turmeric wafted through the air, reminding her of her family origins in the Azores Islands. She knew she had to be in a dream—ginger and oranges weren’t typically grown in the uppermost parts of North America—and yet, she wanted to stay—to see what, or who, came next._

_For all she knew, she believed herself alone in this horticultural dreamscape—that is, until she heard a rustle from the gardenia bushes. She instinctively froze, wondering if a monster was looming beneath the veneer of this indomitable summer paradise. But—no. She smiled and with outstretched arms, met the small sprinting figure of her spritely little girl Maya, who kissed her on the cheek and burrowed her curls into Macy’s slim shoulder._

_She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and turned around. Her husband, Harry. They kissed, and he motioned as if to follow him behind what she recognized to be her she-shed, where lay an addition of greenery to the already-thriving Vera Manor Garden. In her waking memory, she had never recalled coming across this stretch of land—where had it originated from?_

_“Henry and Matilda have been enjoying their nap with Daddy,” Harry said, pointing to an infant boy and girl in a white bassinet, both of whom had familiar curly locks of hair and marble-grey celestial eyes._

“Macy!” Macy awoke abruptly from her nap on the living room couch, only to find Harry wearing navy palm tree-printed surfer shorts and a T-shirt, popcorn and sparkling water on hand. “I’ve just put Maya to sleep. Ready for movie night? Or did you want to postpone?”

“I-I’m awake,” replied Macy, slowly emerging from her stupor, as she rose to a seated position on the couch. “Movie night sounds _amazing_.”

_8:30 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room Couch_

As Macy and Harry watched the movie and ate popcorn (sprinkled with local flavors of chili, cumin, pepper, toasted sesame seeds, and dry-roasted nuts), Macy suddenly turned to Harry.

“What are your thoughts on having more children?” Macy asked, taking a slow sip of her glass of sparkling water, which she noticed contained a colorful mix of blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries that Harry had picked up fresh from Faial Market earlier that morning.

Harry took a bite of popcorn, chewing thoroughly before responding. “I’d be open to more, but only if it’s within your comfort zone. If I recall correctly, you _did_ scream that it was (and I quote) “ _all my fault_ ” and I remember hearing the words “ _why the fuck did I agree to this anyhow”_ being muttered under your breath as you enveloped my hand in a death grip,” he responded warily. His hand still had odd twinges of pain that flared up whenever a vanquishing was imminent, much like how rheumatic joints foretell a change in weather-related barometric pressure.

“You might have also recalled that I said that while in active labor, pushing a watermelon out of a veritable needle,” Macy retorted, nevertheless vaguely amused. “In fact, I hardly remember the pain, now that its been three years since Maya’s birth.”

Harry raised his eyebrow at Macy. “Are you _absolutely_ certain of that?”

“Well, I don’t remember the pain _much_. Morgana’s taught me the importance of Kegel exercises, I’ve stayed physically fit by traveling from the Azores to Vera Garden for postdoctoral work and open combat, and Maya basically potty-trained herself last year. How hard could a second pregnancy possibly be?”

“We have certainly been blessed with Maya,” Harry murmured. The movie was still playing, but neither paid any attention. “Perhaps, maybe soon, we can…see what happens?” he ventured hesitantly.

Macy nodded, scooting closer to Harry, laying her head on his shoulder, her curls brushing against his broad, angular chest. “Sounds like a plan.”


	2. HM2V: Pulled Pork & Pineapple Rum

2: HM2V: Pulled Pork & Pineapple Rum

_9 am, Fourth of July, Vera Manor Garden_

“ _Red, white and blue Jell-O_!” the online caption read. “20 Recipes to a Fantastic Fourth!” Maggie continued stirring the boiling crimson, glassy concoction, beads of perspiration popping up on her forehead. She’d already started the slow cooker for the pulled pork some hours ago, and the coquitos still needed mixing, but she figured those could wait a couple more hours.

It seemed just yesterday that Harry had immobilized them all, telling them they were the Charmed Ones. Macy had just come into their lives, and here they all were: magical forces of good meant to combat evil and corrupt forces of darkness. Now, just a mere three years later, Harry and Macy were happily married, as well as the proud parents of little Maya, and Mel and Abigael were living together in Abigael’s luxurious and stately New York City apartment.

The news that Mel and Abigael were dating did _not_ come as welcome news to Macy, who still harbored deep-rooted resentment over Abigael making out with her now-husband Harry. Maggie did note to Macy that she and Harry hadn’t even begun dating back then, but that didn’t matter one bit to Macy, who certainly knew how to hold a grudge. In the same breath, Maggie pointed out that the magical community was small enough, and its inhabitants lived for centuries on end, which meant that friends and neighbors and acquaintances all ended up in bed together at some point in their lives, and Macy reluctantly agreed that Maggie did have a point.

Mel departing for New York meant that there was an extra guest bedroom now, and the shared upstairs bathroom was less crowded. Also, Macy and Harry had added a master bathroom of their own, which they shared with Maya, and which was connected to her bedroom. _Their bedroom now,_ Maggie supposed, _as they alternated between living in the Azores Epicenter Pico condo and Vera Manor._ That being said, Jordan was slowly starting to move into Vera Manor; it seemed as though if someone left Vera Manor, there would always be someone that would arrive shortly thereafter, to fill the empty space. _And he certainly had_ , Maggie smiled to herself, recalling seeing his toothbrush in the upstairs bathroom next to hers. His frizzy mop of hair next to her wavy locks in the early morning sunshine, kissing her before anyone else in the house woke up.

She wondered whether anyone else knew that Jordan was gradually occupying Vera Manor space. Macy, Harry, and Maya didn’t use the upstairs shared bathroom, now that they had their own; Macy and Harry were mostly preoccupied with child-proofing rooms for their active, rambunctious daughter (understandably), and Macy was continuing her genetics business in the renovated she-shed. Mel was far away in her own romantic world. _Maggie sighed._ It was fun being the youngest, being able to get away with anything, but she wished that someone in her family— _anyone,_ really—would see herself and Jordan together, give them the stamp of approval, or just otherwise…notice she had a love life _at all._

_10 am, Fourth of July, Vera Manor Garden_

Maggie had finished placing the cherry red, coconut white, and blue raspberry Jell-O into its mold, which was currently solidifying in a dark corner of the fridge. She cleaned up the kitchen counter, and went back upstairs to continue her online courses, as she had made it her mission to graduate online; she had used magic to ensure her cover was not blown while signing up for her psychology courses, and knew that in order to progress beyond her current employee position, she needed to obtain her bachelor’s degree (or suitable equivalent). When she was unceremoniously uprooted from her original home those years ago, her educational path had been disrupted, between nearly ending up in a semi-arranged marriage and finding herself supporting her entire family on one entry-level starting salary which paid less than she desired. _But,_ she thought to herself bravely as she turned on her laptop, _better late than never,_ sitting feet away from Jordan, who was preoccupied with writing his 50 page legal externship brief that was due in less than 48 hours. As the saying went, _the law is a jealous mistress._

_11 am, Fourth of July, Vera Manor Garden_

“Auntie Maggie!! Uncle Jordan!!” Maggie heard a high-pitched squeal and turned around from the picnic table where she had been assembling the Jell-O, bread rolls, and coquitos.

“Maya, my _favorite_ niece,” she exclaimed, kneeling with outstretched arms, which Maya met with all the enthusiasm her three-year-old self could possibly muster. Jordan came over from arranging the pulled pork, and hugged Maya as well. Maggie then picked Maya up and straightening, she greeted Maya’s parents, Harry and Macy, who were several meters behind.

“Sweetie, what has daddy told you about walking slowly after transatlantic orbing?” Harry gently admonished, setting down a pitcher of iced tea and a platter of freshly-cut papaya, pineapple, and blueberry fruit salad.

“But _daddy,_ Maya said, with a precocious grin, “my feet enjoy walking faster when I’m at Vera Manor.” Harry and Macy glanced at each other with a bemused expression. Jordan chuckled.

“She sounds _exactly_ like someone I know,” Harry remarked, looking straight at Macy, who playfully hit him on the shoulder.

_2 pm, Fourth of July, Vera Manor Garden_

Everyone had enjoyed their slow-cooked pulled pork sandwiches, coquitos, and Jell-O. Harry’s tea had turned out quite nicely, and their fruit salad had the freshest tropical fruit Maggie could ever remember enjoying in her entire life, but then again, they _did_ just orb from the Azores, where the pair could obtain such wares year-round. _Lucky them,_ Maggie thought to herself. _Living on a tropical island with their daughter._ Sometimes, she wondered if she would be fortunate enough one day, to carve out a corner of the earth for herself, Jordan, and their future family, as Macy had with Harry and their daughter.

At the same time, Maggie realized that the Epicenter Pico condo had a single master bedroom which held a crib, last time she checked. She wondered how they were able to sleep like that, with no privacy, but maybe they had their own way of doing things on the island. She knew they had mentioned something about renovations there, using some of the funds generated from Macy’s business. _Maybe an extra bedroom_ , Macy had said. _Or two_ , interjected Harry, his eyes twinkling. _More Valensi babies to spoil to her heart’s content_.

Just then, Maya began fussing. Harry and Macy gave each other _that look_ over Maya’s head. They made as if to leave, since Maya’s bedtime had passed (it was past 8 pm in the Azores), and it was once again, time for the little family to head home.

“Until next time!” Harry and Macy waved, as did Maya, whose hands were each held tightly by her parents. With a _pop_ , they disappeared.

_2:01 pm/9 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Fourth of July_

The family of three landed in their living room, with its familiar cozy sofa, coffee table, and alphabet letter magnets situated on the kitchen’s fridge door. Macy proceeded to give Maya a bath and put her to bed; once the girl was sound asleep, Macy joined Harry on the balcony for pineapple rum cocktails while they watched the fireworks from her phone. There were certain things such as American fireworks displays, that they couldn’t get on the islands. After all, the Azores was an autonomous region of Portugal; all was quiet save for the rustling palm trees, the seagulls, and the ocean waves that could be heard from a distance.

“Happy Fourth of July,” they said to each other, thoroughly exhausted, clinking their glasses together in the verdant tropical breeze.


	3. HM2V: Latinate Palatinate

3: HM2V: Latinate Palatinate

_9 am, Saturday, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

Macy braced her thighs and uttered a sharp gasp. _Fuck yes…_

_Earlier that Day, 8:30 am, Vera Manor Garden_

It was just another Saturday in the Vera Manor household; Maggie was on summer break from her online studies and had graciously volunteered to watch Maya upstairs with Jordan while Macy and Harry prepared a sample set of 8,000 oxtail titers in Macy’s she-shed in the Vera Manor Garden. Harry, Macy, and Maya had orbed over, and Maggie met Maya outside with a bowl of artificially-colored purple unicorn-themed marshmallow-encrusted cereal, much to Maya’s delight ( _and Harry’s consternation_ ). Once everyone had talked, caught up, and said various social niceties, Maggie reached for Maya’s hand and led her upstairs to watch morning cartoons with herself and Jordan—a rare treat, considering that the Epicenter Pico condo in the Azores did not have a single television set. Harry was of an older generation that firmly believed too much television rotted the brain.

_8:40 am, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

“8,000 titers _Spermatozoa bovi,”_ Macy read the label generated from the customer request form from her laptop. _She could have sworn it was supposed to be oxtail. What on earth was “spermatozoa bovi?”_ Macy thought back to her Latin course materials from college. _Bovine, bovi_ —that still meant “ox.” _Spermatozoa? Protozoa_ —so, a zoological creature’s… _sperm_? She glanced to her right at Harry, who attempted, but failed, to suppress a smirk.

“Having issues, Dr. Valensi?” he asked, whispering in her ear. Macy swatted him away, as she cleared the wood table for 8,000 inch-long miniature test tubes full of nothing but pure, unadulterated essence of bull sperm.

_8:45 am, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

The miniature test tubes were all set up, thanks to Harry’s quick conjuring. Their lab coats, protective eyewear, and footwear in place, the scientists began their heady work. Macy readied the genetics analysis machine to her left, watching it spring to life, with its telltale _clicks_ and _whirrs_.

“ _Ohhhhhh….”_ Harry pretended to moan, while pipetting the grey substance into what appeared to be the two hundredth vial. “I can feel it… _coming_ …. It’s such _hard_ work, isn’t it Macy?”

Despite her abject annoyance at Harry’s antics, Macy couldn’t help but feel her toes involuntarily curl. _Oh dear heavens._ “Shut up, and just _pipette the damn thing_ ,” she hissed, though knowing full well that nobody could hear her in this tiny, cozy enclave, except for her lab assistant, who also happened to be her husband of three years.

_8:50 am, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

_Test tube number three thousand and five._ Harry was quite masterful at this; combining his Whitelighter skills with speedy science was truly an art form to behold. The way he thrust his digits on the button to draw in, and release the cloudy, potent substance, _over_ and _over again_ , hearing the throttle and thrum of the pipetting instrument, _in_ and _out, out_ and _in._ Macy’s breath hitched, as she gripped the edge of the wooden table with the edges of her fingernails.

“Alright there, Dr. Valensi, dear?” Harry paused his handiwork to give Macy a once-over.

“I—I’m _fine_ ,” gasped Macy, holding on to her composure for dear life. _This was taking every ounce of strength she had, to not lose it in the she-shed right then and there._ She tried counting soundlessly… _three thousand and ten…three thousand and fifty, three thousand one hundred…three thousand five hundred…four thousand…four thousand fifty…five thousand…_

_8:55 am, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

“It’s such a _fucking hard_ task for a Saturday morning, isn’t it?” Harry came up behind her, again breathing into her ear, which caused her to moan ever-so-softly. _Seven thousand and one…seven thousand and fifty…seven thousand five hundred…Goddammit Harry…_

_8:58 am, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

_Seven thousand nine hundred…seven thousand nine hundred forty…seven thousand nine hundred eighty…eight thousand._ Macy slowly breathed in and out, as Harry corked the last of the samples and placed them within the genetics sampling machine, which had been dutifully upgraded recently to add additional shelving for multiple sample lines. The sequencing would likely take an hour.

 _In the meantime, get a grip,_ Macy admonished herself. _You’re thirty-three, for crying out loud. You’re a mature, reasonable, self-sufficient, level-headed—_

“Once the samples are done, love, I’ll ram them all in a long, hard cylindrical rod, and shove it up the chute, addressed to the Latinate Palatinate from whence it came,” Harry seductively whispered in Macy’s ear, causing herself to lose composure, moaning loudly.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Macy whispered.

_9 am, Saturday, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

Harry swept the wood table clean ( _no breakables in sight, thank goodness_ ), situating Macy’s luscious derrière atop it, spreading her legs, unbuttoning her lab coat, and removing her underwear so fast she swore it had been charmed off.

Macy braced her thighs and uttered a sharp gasp. _Fuck yes…_

Harry’s head was directly in front of her, licking her own flowery melanin-petaled folds in a rhythmic calligraphic pattern of his own, winding his way downward, to the sides, and eventually upward to her most sensitive area, as she gasped and grabbed his scalp with both hands. “ _Gods, Harry…”_ she murmured in ecstasy. “ _Don’t stop.”_

He continued his amatory movements, pleasuring this lovely, gorgeous, curly-haired woman who had somehow, through nothing short of a divine miracle, fallen in love with him, Harry Valensi ( _formerly Greenwood_ ) all those years earlier. _This woman,_ who had once been the Darcy to his Jimmy, the century-long love of his immortal waking life. His past, his present, and his future, forevermore. _Macy_ , who had harbored his seed and borne their child from her very womb. Who was now enthusiastically absorbing his sensual touches of the most carnal, erotic nature, as her thighs wound tightly around Harry, pinning his shoulders as she reached her apex, screaming his name into the ether.


	4. HM2V: Chocolate & Peppermint

4: HM2V: Chocolate & Peppermint

_9:10 am, Saturday, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

“ _Damn_ , Harry,” Macy’s tousled curls made contact with Harry’s sideburns as she kissed him, sensuously ensconced in her afterglow, as the sequencing machine continued its steady machinations. Besides the ever-present sequencer, solid desk, and all-too-familiar rusted-through windows (which made it impossible for anyone to see inside, _thank goodness_ ), Macy’s she-shed had been expanded in the past year to include a new second floor that contained hard copies of client files, a small meeting space (for one-on-one chats), and a camper-style cot (for Maya to take a nap, or for Macy and Harry to use, which of course, they _certainly_ did).

The most notable addition, however, was the second floor’s portal, which could take oneself to different places, assuming the correct amulet was on hand. This portal was still in its development phase; the ability to transport was present, but the preciseness was a bit unreliable at times. If a person tried to portal through with the plan to enter Vera Manor’s kitchen, they could end up 1. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, 2. Seated in the middle of the kitchen, or 3. Seated _on_ the kitchen table that was already laden with brunch-style scrambled eggs, vegan buckwheat waffles, and piping hot coffee (much to Maggie Vera’s extreme annoyance _—whoops)_. Macy remembered having to write a check for the itemized damages and knew if she and Harry were to test the portal again, it would have to be under carefully controlled circumstances with a minimal chance of failure.

_10 am, Sunday, One Week Later, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Harry popped into the Vera Manor kitchen, wearing a casual shirt and blue plaid “dad-shorts.” He heard footsteps coming from the direction of the staircase. “Ah, _Jordan._ Ready to go?” Jordan nodded having donned an equally inconspicuous shirt and jeans, list in hand, as he grasped Harry’s arm.

_10:01 am, Behind Organic Grocery Store_

“Where are we?” Jordan asked, slightly dazed; he knew it would take several more orbing sessions before he could accustom himself to this unusual method of transport that gave him the odd sensation of being simultaneously yanked by his navel _and_ swung around a thrashing hurricane.

“Behind the organic grocery store—we Whitelighters prefer an unobtrusive entrance, _if_ you know what I mean,” Harry responded, as he straightened the wrinkles on his shorts, then casually strolled around the corner to the main entrance. Jordan followed closely behind, glancing around themselves to ensure they weren’t being followed.

_10:10 am, Dessert section, Organic Grocery Store_

“What’s on the list again?” Harry inquired, turning to Jordan. Jordan pulled out the list, reading aloud: “dark chocolate, Aztec-style dark chocolate cocoa slabs for hot cocoa, (2) peppermint tea, tampons ( _Maggie_ ), winged super-comfort sanitary napkins ( _Macy_ ), sugar free coconut milk ice cream (2)—chocolate-flavored and brownie cookie dough-flavored), _and—_ ” Jordan glanced at the bottom of the hastily-scrawled list.

“ _And?_ ” Harry prompted him impatiently.

“Meat—any variety welcome,” Jordan showed Harry the list. “There’s a footnote down below stating to not bother bringing home any vegetables except for French fries.”

Harry frowned, his brow furrowed. “French fries aren’t vegetables. I should orb back and tell them—”

Jordan shot him a piercing look. “ _Dude._ Do you want to be _right_ , or do you wanna be _alive_?”

“Excellent point, Jordan.” Harry ceased and desisted, as they divvied up the items, hunting throughout the store’s sections for their wares. Shopping for their respective significant others during their synchronous premenstrual cycles was not something Harry thought he’d encounter when he first began his new life as a Whitelighter, but adding this to his to-do list made him feel just a bit more domesticated, which he didn’t mind in the slightest. “This is my life now,” he mumbled to no one in particular, plucking the Aztec dark chocolate cocoa slabs off of a nearby shelf, plunking it in his basket of accumulated items.

_10:40 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Jordan and Harry landed in the kitchen with a _pop_ , grocery bags in hand. They sorted out the items in two separate piles; Jordan placed the items meant for Maggie in one bag, Harry placed Macy’s items in a different bag, and they parted ways.

_10:45 pm/5:45 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry landed neatly in the living room of the Azores condo, and carefully laid out Macy’s sanitary napkins, Aztec hot chocolate, peppermint tea, and brownie cookie dough coconut ice cream. “Love, I brought you the items you asked for!” he called. After hearing no answer, he ventured around. “Macy?” he shouted, a little louder this time.

“ _In here,”_ a voice whispered. Recognizing the voice and where it was coming from, he pushed the bedroom door open and found Macy half-asleep on the king-sized bed, a hot water bottle heating pad situated on her abdomen.

“Macy, what—”

“ _Shhhhh!_ ” she whispered, pointing at a cherubic Maya, sleeping in her toddler bed just mere feet away. “I’ve finally convinced her to take a nap.”

“But how?”

Macy cheekily smiled. “I put on some music and told her we were watching “Eyelids.” A _very_ grown-up movie for big girls, where they close their eyes,” she whispered as he tip-toed toward the bed and kissed Macy noiselessly. “I think it worked!” She surveyed Harry’s visage, his well-toned arms, his biceps…”How was your shopping trip with Jordan?”

“It went off without a hitch,” he replied, amused at Macy’s well-intentioned trickery. “Several more orbings in, and he could fancy himself a Whitelighter with those self-defense skills he has, on top of everything else.”

“Impressive, Harry, _very_ impressive,” Macy murmured, and Harry had the distinct feeling they weren’t talking about his tutelage skills. “I wish I could say the same,” she wistfully stated, motioning to Maya.

“However do you mean?” Harry was puzzled. Their daughter was sound asleep, and nothing seemed visibly amiss.

“Maya’s hit her “three-nager” phase,” Macy answered ruefully. “As in rebellious teenage years, but at age 3. She’s trying to assert her independence, and she’s being very stubborn about it. This afternoon after you’d left, she refused to eat her lunch, then when she did, she refused to eat anything that started with the letter “B.”—”

“Which, of course, is a pity given that I just purchased a half-dozen bananas and a quart container of fresh blueberries from Faial Market at the crack of dawn, not to mention the beef burritos for tonight—” Harry began catching on. “Oh dear, will I have to return _all_ of the produce?” Harry began to panic.

“No,” Macy laughed softly, then winced. “ _Ow…_ cramps…time of the month,” she said, pressing the heating pad further into her lower stomach to ward off the pain. “I’m fine,” she added hastily to Harry, who she suspected _still_ wasn’t fully used to seeing her in this type of voluntary monthly cyclical discomfort. “There’s nothing you can do as a Whitelighter to fix this, Harry, believe me.” She moved to the right as Harry removed his shoes and sat next to her on the bed.

“As for Maya’s food preferences, we just need to relabel them—bananas to star fruit ( _stars and bananas are both yellow_ ), blueberries to jam-berries, beef burritos to spicy tortilla-wiches,” Macy said, her heating pad still clutched to her abdomen. She replied hastily to Harry’s questioning look. “It’s only temporary, _I swear_. I know we’re not supposed to coddle her, Harry, but I’ve got no fight left in me this week; I can’t concentrate right now, I’m in pain, and I feel like utter crap—”

Harry put his finger gently on Macy’s lips, momentarily silencing her. “It’s ok.” He turned her gently to face the opposite wall, massaging the kinks out of her tense shoulders, and she uttered a long, deep exhalation of welcome relief. “ _I love you, Macy_ ,” Harry whispered.

“ _I love you too, Harry_ ,” Macy responded, turning around to kiss his forehead ever-so-gently.


	5. HM2V: A Proto Proliferation

5: HM2V: A Proto Proliferation

_2 pm Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

Maya had finally gone down for the count, her bouncing tresses now still, as she napped upstairs on the second floor of Macy’s she-shed. The cot creaked at a minimum, while downstairs, Macy hurried to finish sequencing the last of the _Corvus corax_ (common raven) genomes that had come in at the crack of dawn as a rush-order delivery request to be completed no later than close of business that very day.

 _Every client thinks that their project is the most important of them all_ , Macy thought to herself. _And they never consider the fact that there are tens, if not hundreds, of similar people who think that their work also happens to be the answer to the universe’s problems. How funny and ironic._ Turning to the corax samples, she noticed, all of a sudden, that all seventy of the intricate genome tubes had started blinking in bright red. Macy peered closer at the samples, perplexed. _It looked as if it were a…ticking explosive? No, it would have sped up its pace if that were the case. It more resembled a homing signal—a tracking beacon, perhaps._

She continued to stare at the blinking samples, neglecting to notice a tiny-but-ever-widening crack in the rusted-through windows, as a razor sharp crow’s beak pecked its way through the series of carefully-made enchantments.

_2:08 pm Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

Macy grew increasingly nervous; she could feel the hairs on the edge of her neck prickle, and in an extremely uncomfortable way, that indicated to her that the need for vanquishing was soon to come upon her. _That shouldn’t be possible,_ she tried to reassure herself. _I’ve placed every enchantment I could, all over these walls. Plus, Vera Manor’s protection extends to anything within its garden boundaries._ Her fingers shook slightly as she switched off the sequencing machine, transferring the seventy vials of essence into a Styrofoam shipping container. _Nothing’s supposed to happen in the she-shed,_ she tried to tell herself. _Everything is perfectly fine—_

The crow had finally ground a hole in the glass window large enough to fall in, transforming itself silently into a female wearing dark robes and an incredibly unpleasant demeanor. Macy took no notice, as her back was to this imposing intruder, who raised a hand as if to knock Macy out—

_And suddenly, a large BOOM, followed by a shattering of glass ensued, leaving a person-sized hole in the left of Macy’s compact she-shed._

_2:09 pm Vera Manor Garden_

“HARRY!” Macy wailed, as she spotted a dark hooded figure that had been blown out sideways from the she-shed, who was now lying unconscious under Mel’s gardenia bush. Harry appeared in an instant.

“Macy, whatever happened?” he asked, and Macy pointed at the intruder, still knocked out.

“That— _whatever that is—_ snuck up behind me while I was sequencing samples. I—I had no idea. I only noticed after it was blown out of the she-shed—”

They looked at each other, their minds as one. “ _Maya,”_ they whispered, re-entering the she-shed and racing to the second floor.

_2:10 pm Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed, 2 nd Floor_

“Maya?” Macy attempted to calm her voice. “Sweetie, are you there?” silently pleading to the goddesses that be that her only daughter was unharmed. She was gathering her wits to scream Maya’s name out, but heard a small shuffling noise behind a large metal safe cabinet of client files. _Maya. Thank heavens._

“Mommy?” the little voice called out, sniffling a bit. Macy could see the familiar halo of richly-hued ringlets and hurried forward, gathering Maya in her arms; Harry followed suit. After a couple of minutes of nonstop hugging, Macy brought Macy down the stairs and into the bright garden sunlight, shielding Maya’s view of the passed-out creature languishing in the gardenia bush.

“Maya, love, can you tell mum and daddy what happened?” Harry ventured to ask at last.

Maya buried her head in Macy’s shoulder, shaking her head. “ _Illgetintrouble”_ she mumbled.

“Sweetie, you’re not in trouble,” Macy patted Maya’s shoulder. “We need to find out what happened so we can keep you safe.” Maya nodded upon hearing her words.

“There was a black bird that pecked a hole in the window. The bird turned into _that_ ,” Maya pointed at the figure. “She was coming for mommy. Mommy didn’t see but _I_ did. I didn’t want mommy to get hurt. I pushed the mean lady away into the bushes.”

Incredulous, Macy and Harry stared at Maya, then at each other. _If this were indeed the case,_ thought Harry, _how had Maya the strength to push a creature out of a structure built with a full portal, multiple force fields, and Vera Manor protection?_ The answer came immediately enough—Maya was the child of a Whitelighter and the oldest of the Charmed Ones. Of _course_ Maya’s powers would have made themselves known, especially in circumstances of physical danger.

But how did Macy’s she-shed come to be in danger in the first place? Every single protective mechanism should have been in place to prevent this from happening. _Perhaps the Vera Manor Garden was too far from the house itself to be fully protected?_ Macy knew, however, that this was not possible—their magic had been of the highest caliber. _What then?_ She gave a start, recalling the blinking _Corvus corax_ samples. _How could she have been so damned stupid?_

“ _Corvus corax_ is the Latin term for common crow—a black bird, which is symbolic of the feminine group, known commonly as—” Macy stopped, waiting for Harry to fill in the blank.

“The Sarcana,” they said in unison.

_2:30 pm Vera Manor Garden_

“ _SOS_ ,” Macy quickly texted Mel. “ _Sarcana unconscious in your gardenia bush after trying to infiltrate and attack me. Maya saved the day_.”

“ _I’ll send help_ ,” Mel rapidly typed back. _“Bummer about the gardenias.”_

_2:32 pm Vera Manor Garden_

“You rang?” A drawling voice called out from behind the furthest bush.

Macy groaned. _It was Abigael._

_2:35 pm Vera Manor Garden_

“When I told Mel to help, I didn’t think she was going to—to—” Macy faltered.

“—to send me, you mean?” Abigael raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen this magic before, as my half-witch powers weren’t bound. As crazy as _my_ own mum was at times, she at _least_ had the sense to be smart about those sorts of things and made me face them head-on, unlike _other_ mothers, back in the day.”

Macy’s temper began rising. _Backpfeifengesicht_ , she thought to herself, from when she and Harry had explored the German castle together. _Pronounced: back-fife-in-guh-sick’d._ The term for “a face in need of a slap.” _Context: Ms. Abigael Jameson-Caine, Esquire is in truly dire need of a good, hard Backpfeifengesicht…_

“You’re really quite lucky,” Abigael remarked offhandedly, running an index finger around the perimeter of the she-shed’s sizable hole, bringing Macy crashing back to reality.

“ _Lucky?_ ” Macy exclaimed. “Lucky— _how_?”

“If I recall correctly from your lineage history, the Sarcana had tried to kidnap your cousin twice-removed, Matias, keeping him at the Manchester orphanage for far longer than intended, meaning to weaponize him as the new Proto, the source of unmitigated power—the atomic weapon of their forces,” Abigael remarked, matter-of-factly.

“Meaning…” Macy wished that Abigael would get to the point. “That was eight decades ago, that’s ancient history!”

“True,” Abigael mused. “But if I’m theorizing correctly, _and I suspect I am_ , there’s a rogue exiled member of the Sarcana,” Abigael pointed to the figure in the bushes, “who wants to test Maya’s powers and if potent enough, present her to the head of Sarcana as a form of penance. Or redemption _._ I never _could_ get my theology wording straight. And I suspect your defenses were only infiltrated due to your accepting client packages, one of which was their standard homing signal to lure black birds, their symbolic familiar.”

Harry and Macy looked at each other. _This seems plausible_ , they both thought.

Abigael continued on, making eye contact with Harry and Macy. “I would recommend you give me the rogue member’s body so we can ensure the whereabouts of the Charmed Ones and extended family are never revealed. I would further advise you either halt your genetics business entirely,” Macy flinched at hearing this, “or move it to a different location and shift your…” Abigael glanced at the she-shed’s gaping hole, “ _marketing strategy_ , not to mention tighten your critical defenses.”

“Do what you need to do, Abigael,” Harry said quietly. “Ensure we are left in peace.”

“ _So it shall be done_.” With that, she strode to the gardenia bush, held the body, and vanished.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Macy muttered to Harry. “How do we know if Abigael’s on our side?”

“Sometimes, my dear, the magical world is so dangerous we simply _don’t_ have a choice but to let others in. To work together. To collaborate _wholeheartedly._ We need to hope that your sister Mel is a positive influence on her.”


	6. HM2V: Seeing Red

6: HM2V: Seeing Red

_1 am, Dumpster Fire, Outskirts of Seattle, Washington_

Abigael watched, transfixed, as the flickering orange, amber, and ruby-colored flames licked the shiny, oil-laden fumes, greedily devouring what was left of the dark-hooded figure’s body. On a personal level, she had no qualms about letting villains survive—to spare such lives meant death, whether such doom would arrive the next day, the next decade, or even the next century. Abigael was used to the disposability of evil lives, but having spent time around Mel, she had since honed this pathological need to harm into a finessed, highly-targeted art form. Abigael didn’t necessarily annihilate _less_ , per se, contrary to whatever Mel or anyone else believed. She was simply more strategic in her methods, for better or for worse, with an innate moral compass, in which she silently vowed to never purposefully harm a child or a zoological animal of _any_ species, if she could possibly help it.

_Noon, Next Day, Vera Manor Garden_

The she-shed hole was speedily patched up and magical protections were, yet again, applied to the compact structure. After Maya fell asleep, Macy had had a lengthy discussion with Harry in the living room that lasted long into the night; this mainly covered what direction her business would take. For now, given the potential risk of intaking pseudonymous client samples, she’d been forced to tailor her website and had sent automatic emails to her subscribers, announcing that she was only available for editing documents, or for publication collaborations. Macy sighed. _All she ever wanted to do was pursue science to her heart’s content—why was this so difficult?_

At the same time, Harry _did_ point out that Maya was an extremely powerful witch and Whitelighter for such a young age, and had enough power to protect herself should the need arise. Macy’s sequencing machine was fully intact, and the second floor portal still worked and was as secure as ever. As long as the hooded figure wouldn’t return, Macy and the rest of her family were safe.

_12:05 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

“ _Ahem_ ,” a silky voice interrupted Macy’s silent musing. “It’s been resolved.” Macy turned around from the front of the she-shed, spotting Abigael emerging from a corner of a begonia bush.

“Good… _I think_?” Macy hesitated, unwilling to fully acknowledge Abigael’s efforts.

“Yes,” Abigael grinned, in a most unsettling Cheshire cat style. “ _Quite._ You won’t be having any more trouble, I can assure you.” With that, she vanished.

_12:10 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

A most unsettling thought entered Macy’s brain at that moment. “HARRY!” she yelled into the open sky, startling the sparrows that had crouched overhead in the oak tree branches, now scuttling this way and that.

“Yes, love?” Macy heard his voice just inches behind her.

“You told Abigael, “ _do what you need to do_ ” and something about being left in peace,” Macy spoke in a disquieting, dangerously low tone of voice. “Just what _exactly_ is that code for?”

Harry fidgeted, looking extremely uncomfortable upon hearing Macy’s words. “It— _err_ —means exactly what it’s supposed to. Nobody from the rogue faction will be bothering us, because the one person that knew where we were, is gone.”

“Gone, Harry? _Gone_? _Where?_ ” Macy whispered. “Gone to—the _Underworld_? Gone to—a _magical_ _prison?_ ” She had a terrible, awful feeling about this whole situation. “Please, _please_ tell me she didn’t—"

“Well, as a matter of fact…” Harry stared at the grass beneath his feet for a few seconds before responding. “Gone…as in, burned to smithereens in a dumpster fire, at approximately 1 am in the morning. Courtesy of Abigael.”

Macy’s jaw dropped open in abject horror. “How— _HOW COULD YOU?”_ She was screaming now, but couldn’t care less, as Morgana had volunteered to babysit Maya for the day. “You literally—you _LITERALLY—_ made a deal with the overlord.” Macy realized that Maggie was watching them from her bedroom window, so she lowered her voice a few notches. “Do you realize we’ve put ourselves in _her_ debt?” Macy hissed.

Harry grabbed her elbow, and they orbed several feet, landing squarely within the repaired, fully sound-proof she-shed. “ _Look_ Macy. We had no other option. And for the record, it was an official, legitimate, magically-recognized legislative truce, _not_ a shady deal.”

“As if there’s any difference. Are you _seriously_ siding with her?!” Macy uttered in disbelief.

“There’s no sides, Macy. Just a matter of life and death and taking into consideration the best interests of our family. I would do anything to protect you and Maya, and your extended family,” Harry was pacing around the insides of the she-shed, as he often tended to do while clarifying his innermost thoughts aloud.

“Macy, the rebel would have brought word back to however many henchmen, and we would’ve had to deal with twenty—fifty—maybe even _more_ , infiltrating our defenses. As it stands, making a tacit agreement through a trained magical defense attorney-assassin such as Abigael means that the Sarcana will remain silent, Maya will be safe, any future children we have won’t be targets, and Jordan, Mel, and Maggie would be shielded too. As overlord, Abigael’s rule stands, such that those under her protection will suffer no harm. Like I said, love, what we have is an iron-clad truce.”

Macy was about to protest, but reluctantly realized that Harry was right. For now, magical legislation was the best chance at protection. She had experienced the fear and horror of villainy breaking into the Vera Manor attic; even with tripartite powers, vanquishing took quite a lot out a person, and there was something to be said about strength in numbers. Macy was determined to avoid repeating history—dividing up a family due to magical conflict, and all that. “But Harry,” she wondered aloud, “what’s to say Abigael won’t renege on her promise to keep us safe?”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Harry responded. “You know very well that she and Mel are dating. Mel’s changed her—made her more _compassionate_ and so forth, so Mel’s told me. Less _Carrie_ , more _Elsa-_ meets- _Lisbeth Salander_. It’s in Abigael’s best interests to be within our good graces, should their relationship have any staying power; she has to prove herself worthy of Mel, after all.”

“True,” Macy mulled this over. It was difficult disentangling from her subconscious, the image of Abigael and Harry in the hidden corner of the Command Center. And now, Abigael could end up being part of the Vera family, should she and Mel decide to get married _. Picturing Abigael as a sister-in-law gave herself the shivers, and not the especially good kind_ , Macy thought to herself.

Another thought suddenly struck Macy. “What should we do about Maya’s powers? My mother bound _our_ powers, and we didn’t find out till decades later. I want to make sure our family remains secret-free and happy.”

“I think we should keep Maya’s powers as-is, since she has taken it upon herself to use them to defend herself and you,” Harry replied, “and, like her mother, I think she’s doing quite an admirable job.” He kissed Macy’s forehead softly. “I can start by giving her magic lessons, assess where she is, et cetera. How does that sound?”

“That sounds like a step in the right direction,” Macy shakily replied.

“I thought you’d agree,” Harry said, smiling. “I’ll set everything up so Maya and I can get started tomorrow morning—right here, in Vera Manor Garden.”


	7. HM2V: M is for Montessori

7: HM2V: M is for Montessori

_12:10 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

“That sounds like a step in the right direction,” Macy shakily replied.

“I thought you’d agree,” Harry said, smiling. “I’ll set everything up so Maya and I can get started tomorrow morning—right here, in Vera Manor Garden.”

_9 am, Next Morning, Vera Manor Garden_

After Maya had sleepily eaten her breakfast, consisting of a quarter of a scooped-out ripened papaya, a half-pint glass of coconut milk, and a cup of whole grain cereal in the Vera Manor kitchen, she was led to Vera Manor Garden by Macy, where Harry sat waiting on a yoga mat in the dewy grass, surrounded by a mixture of whimsical child-friendly objects. After yesterday’s tense conversation in the patched-up she-shed, Harry and Macy had decided to decamp at Vera Manor for the evening with Maya, bringing a couple of large duffel bags specially designed to carry 50 times its natural weight, at a mere fraction of the normal heaviness.

_9:02 am, Yoga Mat, Vera Manor Garden_

According to his online research, Harry had learned that the Montessori Method of Education, developed by Italian physician Maria Montessori, was a child-centered approach based on scientific observations of children ( _perfect for himself and his wife,_ he thought to himself, given that they both worked in the scientific field). What particularly drew his attention, was that Montessori's method had been widely applied on an international scale for well over 100 years. _Which was, of course, just slightly longer than he had been alive, either as Jimmy Westwell or Harry Greenwood-turned-Valensi._ That earned more credibility in Harry’s eyes, than just about anything else about the teaching style.

He had read a _Wikipedia_ article on the Montessori methodology, which stated that the method “views the child as the one who is naturally eager for knowledge and capable of initiating learning in a supportive, thoughtfully prepared learning environment. It attempts to develop children physically, socially, emotionally and cognitively.” That description of the Montessori child matched his own observations of his energetic, intelligent young daughter, and the developmental aspects could, in theory, mesh well with an adapted hands-on, or _kinesthetic_ , approach to magical training of little ones. Harry smiled. “Maya, love, are you ready to be daddy’s guinea pig today?”

“Daddy, you’re silly,” the little girl giggled, shaking her head and tossing her curls left and right. “I’m a _girl_ , not a _pig._ ”

“I know, _I know_ ,” Harry murmured, taking Maya into his lap. “A guinea pig is a cuddly, furry creature that oft is one’s first pet. It can also have a scientific meaning—to be the star of an experiment, I suppose you could say. Do you want to be daddy’s star?”

“Sure, daddy. Will the experiment be fun?”

“ _Loads_ of fun,” Harry responded, beckoning toward all of the curious objects that sat all around them.

_9:07 am, Yoga Mat, Vera Manor Garden_

“ _This,_ ” indicated Harry, pointing to the first set of objects, "is a way of pouring water. You pour the pitcher, full of water,” he pointed to the larger of the two containers, “into this cup here.” He continued explaining the rest of the items. "The second set of objects are—”

“BUBBLES!” Maya shrieked in delight.

“Yes, Maya, _bubbles._ You dip this large wand in the soapy suds, and blow into the air, see? Like this,” Harry demonstrated, waving a large, baseball-sized orb into the space up above their heads. Maya watched, happily clapping her hands. “Moving on,” Harry gently scooched Maya to the third mini station, “are the wooden blocks—stack them however you would like.” Maya seemed somewhat less fascinated by these but attempted to pay attention to Harry all the while, hoping that something more interesting lay beyond that particular activity.

Harry then took Maya to the next corner of the yoga mat—for the “candle and air” portion. This was part of the standard Montessori curricula, but he had adapted it for preschool-age purposes. Instead of an open flame, there was a battery-powered candle whose “flame” was nothing more than flickering plastic. Macy, after all, was more than flexible in allowing Harry full rein over Maya’s magical leanings; he needed to offer a bit of leeway and promote child safety in turn. _It was the least he could do._

Finally, the last station held a single black-colored toy pony.

_9:10 am, Vera Manor, Patio Glass Doors_

Macy sipped her much-needed cup of strong, aromatic coffee, _no sugar, no cream_. The time change had not been kind to her; she’d woken up with a splitting headache and a child’s melody earwormed firmly in her brain. _Watching Harry showing Maya the Montessori toys, she wondered silently how it was possible to be so in love with one’s little family, and at the same time, wish she herself were buried within the cozy covers of her very own bedroom, alone, without anyone asking her to take them to the potty, buy the latest unicorn toy, or watch the same movie five times in a row._ Sometimes, she just wanted a break from it all. In four years, she had gone from only child/loner Macy to having a family she previously never knew about, plus a Whitelighter lover-turned-adoring husband. The milestones that were typically spread out through decades had been squashed into those crunched-up years, and it was certainly taking a toll on her emotional well-being.

“Are you ok, Mace?” Maggie crept up behind her, unnoticed until now. “You seem…” she searched for the word, “… _contemplative_.”

“Just exhausted, with Maya hitting the three-nager phase,” Macy replied, still watching her husband and daughter duke things out on the yoga mat outdoors. Maya had attempted to lift the bubble wand but splashed soapy suds all over Harry’s front. Macy stifled a laugh as she took another sip.

“Yeah, the days are long…but the years are short. At least, that’s what my parent friends who have kids tell me these days,” said Maggie, matter-of-factly. “I’ve heard things get better by age four or five. They’re old enough to spell out exactly what they want, and they’re tall enough that you don’t have to constantly lift them up to wash their hands in the bathroom six times a day.”

Macy glanced back at Maggie. “I take it they’ve enlisted you in babysitting duty?”

“On occasion,” Maggie said simply.

“I guess, it’s also that…” Macy’s voice trailed off, as she watched Harry chase Maya around the mat, as they blew kisses at each other. “Maya has her powers, and she’s _so innocent_ and _happy_ , and she has us two parents, and sometimes—just sometimes—” her voice cracked with emotion.

“You think about what could’ve been, us sisters?”

Macy nodded, gulping, forcing the tears forming in her eyes from spilling out onto her sun-kissed cheeks. “I feel a sense of rage, that Marisol kept us from knowing each other as kids, preventing us from developing those sisterly bonds early on. I get _why_ she had to stay far away, and it’s not fair, but I still get angry from time to time.”

Maggie chuckled, to Macy’s surprise. “Honestly, Macy, you didn’t miss out on much. Our early years were tense, with Marisol’s fractured marriage and sis and I bickering all the time about how I preferred frilly girl things, and she most decidedly did not. Of course, years later, she came out and everything suddenly made sense, but we were as different as different could be. If you knew us back then, you would’ve run the opposite direction.” Macy laughed aloud at hearing this. Maggie continued, “the main thing that got us through those tense times though, was the loyalty we had for each other, underneath all the bickering and catfighting—the loyalty we all share now. I’ve also found that when there are multiple kids around, they entertain each other…” she gave Macy a rather pointed expression.

“Yeah, having more kids has come up in conversation,” Macy answered. “But between the Sarcana and trying to teach Maya magic, how will we ever find time to balance more kids, my career, _and_ making time for Harry and myself? We haven’t gone on a single date since… _I can’t remember when_.”

“I think, in all honesty, the universe gives you just enough of what you’re able to cope with—no less, and no more. And a little bird told me you and Harry are soon celebrating your dating anniversary too…?” Maggie regarded Macy with a grin.

“In a week or so, but we’re so busy—” Macy tried to give a half-hearted reply.

“ _No._ You _will_ make time for yourselves. I’ll make certain of it, if it’s the last thing I do. You’ve got to keep your marriage alive—find ways to remember why you fell in love in the first place. And all that.”

“I suppose I have my work cut out for me then,” Macy replied, smiling.

“You certainly do,” answered Maggie cheerfully, as she began putting her plan in motion, for Macy and Harry to enjoy a child-free date-aversary and recharge the sparks in their marriage.

_10 am, Yoga Mat, Vera Manor Garden_

“Macy?” Harry called. “Can you please come here a sec, love?”

Curious, Maggie and Macy stepped through the glass doors to see what the fuss was about.

The yoga mat was perfectly intact, the bubbles were long gone, the cup and pitcher were overturned, soaked into the grass and long evaporated, and the candle flame was still attached to its artificial source. The blocks remained untouched.

However, neither the toy pony nor Maya could be seen. “Harry,” she said, trying her hardest not to panic. “ _Harry, where’s our daughter?”_ Harry pointed to Macy’s right, far off into the bushes behind her, where she saw her daughter emerge atop a life-sized dark pony—the same pony that had been a mere three inches tall on the yoga mat an hour before.


	8. HM2V: Symbology Surprise & Tickets for Two

8: HM2V: Symbology Surprise & Tickets for Two

_“And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand. […] And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.” -Revelations 6:5-8_

_10:01 am, Yoga Mat, Vera Manor Garden_

However, neither the toy pony nor Maya could be seen. “Harry,” she said, trying her hardest not to panic. “ _Harry, where’s our daughter?”_ Harry pointed to Macy’s right, far off into the bushes behind her, where she saw her daughter emerge atop a life-sized dark-colored pony—the same pony that had been a mere three inches tall on the yoga mat an hour before.

_10:30 am, Vera Manor Garden_

After the yoga mat and various toys were put away, Macy couldn’t help but think of her nondenominational Sunday School teachings on the Book of Revelations, back when she had been enrolled in boarding school all those many years ago. She recalled that Revelations 6:5 referenced a black horse, and something about balancing scales in their hand, which reminded her of the symbol for justice—as in, _the law_. Was her daughter, little Maya, riding on a pony she charmed from its tinier self, a representation of events to follow, decades from now? Would she be a lawyer someday in the mortal realm, _and_ a powerhouse in the magical world? _It certainly seemed possible…_

Somehow, Macy had never once thought to picture exactly what her own children would be like, on the magical side of things. After all, she had never once encountered her powers until she reached her late twenties; it had simply never occurred to her that things would be very different for her daughter. Macy was glad that Maya’s abilities had made themselves known in a safe, protected, and loved environment, where she was free to be exactly who she was, without any need for secrecy and lies. There were so many people for whom that was never once a remote possibility.

Part of her, however, was worried about the symbology and the general implications. Macy herself didn’t know any female attorneys that also happened to be extraordinarily magical, except for Abigael. Macy knew that she herself was ill-equipped to train her own child and needed to find a proper mentor that had demonstrated success in Maya’s chosen field. She implicitly understood that to do otherwise would mean deliberately neglecting Maya’s burgeoning powers, which could cause Maya herself to eventually lose control over them, if the little girl was not appropriately trained in the art.

 _Maya, I love you to bits,_ Macy thought to herself, looking across the yard to the gardenia bush, where Harry was teaching Maya the names of nearby flowers, _but for crying out loud, did you_ really _have to follow Abigael’s career path? Why not the bubbles, signifying the women’s medical field like Morgana? Or the building blocks, characteristic of a patient, steadfast nature commonly seen in the horticulturalist leanings of Matias? Or the water pitcher-pouring, indicating an affinity toward island sports, such as surfing and deep-sea diving?_

Macy audibly sighed. _At least Maya hadn’t aced the candle-air portion_. If she had, they would have had a flame-throwing toddler pyrotechnic on their hands; Macy and Harry had no idea how to magically flame-proof their homes against such chaos. _Ain’t nobody got time for that_ , she sardonically remarked to herself. At the same time, she felt a stab of guilt. She recalled reading Maggie’s child psychology book a year ago, which declared that children don’t come into the world as a clone of their parents, and to expect that a child would, would do a great deal of disservice to said child. “Every child is unique, with distinct talents, strengths, and weaknesses uniquely their own,” the textbook had stated. Macy understood that she needed to nurture Maya’s growing skillset, even if it meant reaching out to Abigael, as much as she despised the very idea. Her daughter was, after all, her main priority (besides Harry, of course).

_6:45 pm, Vera Manor Garden Patio_

“More tortilla-wiches please, mommy,” Maya’s voice rang out amidst the twinkling tea lights strung above the garden’s picnic table. Macy silently placed a third of a beef burrito on the little girl’s plate. “Thank you,” Maya said politely.

“You’re welcome,” Macy ruffled Maya’s curls affectionately, avoiding Maggie and Jordan’s wordless mouthing of _“tortilla-wiches?”_ before the two bursting out laughing. “It’s a long story,” Macy retorted in their general direction.

“Oh, _we know_ ,” Maggie attempted to stifle her laughs, coughing the word * _three-nagers*_ over her mint mojito. Recovering from her brief mirthful outburst, she decided to change the subject. “Speaking of stories, or… _love stories,_ I heard you two lovebirds,” she pointed at Harry and Macy, “have a date-aversery next week!”

“Well—” Macy blushed. “We haven’t really planned anything—”

“Oh, no worries,” Maggie grinned. “I found the _perfect_ place for you two to enjoy date night, and Harry’s already been filled in. Tickets for two, et cetera…”

“What about Maya? I need to keep an eye on her, she’s only three—” interjected Macy.

“We’ll keep an eye on Maya overnight in Vera Manor, right, Jordan?” said Maggie.

Jordan nodded. “We’d be more than happy to—we’ll introduce her palate to sautéed shrimp, lime-citrus rice, and healthy greens. We’ll watch an age-appropriate movie, bake unicorn cupcakes, and read her as many bedtime stories as she possibly wants. How’s that sound?” Jordan was presenting Macy with a tantalizing plan, and he knew it.

“Maggie’s a Charmed One too, Macy, and she’s just completed her course studies in child psychology. We couldn’t ask for a better sitter. Plus, Jordan’s CPR-certified,” Harry murmured in Macy’s ear.

“Oh— _alright_ ,” Macy said finally, acknowledging defeat at last. “Though, y’know, shrimp and lime-citrus rice _do_ sound nice…”

“You’ll have _far_ more interesting food where you two are going, so no need to worry your head over that,” Maggie said, her eyes twinkling at the thrill of planning a surprise for her oldest sister. “You two are going to have. _So. Much. Fun!”_ she squealed in excitement.


	9. HM2V: Damask in Domingos Sequeira

9: HM2V: Damask in Domingos Sequeira

_6:45 pm, Vera Manor Garden Patio_

“…We’ll introduce her palate to sautéed shrimp, lime-citrus rice, and healthy greens. We’ll watch an age-appropriate movie, bake unicorn cupcakes, and read her as many bedtime stories as she possibly wants. How’s that sound?” Jordan was presenting Macy with a tantalizing plan, and he knew it…

“You’ll have _far_ more interesting food where you two are going, so no need to worry your head over that,” Maggie said, her eyes twinkling at the thrill of planning a surprise for her oldest sister. “You two are going to have. _So. Much. Fun!”_ she squealed in excitement.

_5 am PST/12 pm Azores/1 pm Portugal, One Week Later, Vera Manor_

Macy and Harry quietly orbed into her Vera Manor bedroom, leaving Maya with a large pile of coloring books and just as many markers ( _which only worked on paper, not wallpaper or fabric_ ). Their daughter was under strict instructions to stay put until 7 am on the dot, when Maggie would wake up and fix Maya her healthy bowl of freshly-cut fruit.

As Maggie had instructed them, their information lay under Macy’s pillow. She felt underneath its cotton linen and pulled out a thin white envelope. “ _Tickets for Two,”_ it read.

“Tickets for two…to _where_?” Macy asked, puzzled. Harry grinned, beckoning her to take his arm, which she did, and the two disappeared from the Vera Manor bedroom with a _pop_.

_1:02 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Castelo de São Jorge_

“Harry, where are we?” Macy surveyed her semi-prehistoric surroundings of high, crumbling walls. Peering through a perpendicular slit of a window, she could see copious 1800s-style stucco architecture stories below, with what appeared to be ornate tiled walls and various Moorish-style courtyards with central fountains, birds perched all around.

“Castelo de São Jorge, circa 8th century BC, Lisbon,” Harry answered casually, though eyeing Macy carefully, as if gauging her response.

“ _Lisbon?_ As in, _Portugal?_ ” Macy exclaimed, then to Harry’s surprise, kissed him squarely on the mouth, for what seemed to be forever.

_1:07 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Castelo de São Jorge_

“ _Love_ ,” Harry remarked with a grin, “if you don’t let go of me, we’ll lose our reservations,” brandishing the envelope of tickets. With that, Macy desisted, and made as if to reach for them; Harry held the envelope out of reach, causing Macy to cross her arms in mock-annoyance. “It’s about time you took a day to relax; let me take the reins this time, ok?” Macy nodded, and they reached for each other’s hands, as Harry orbed them both to the shopping district.

_1:09 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

“Same drill as before?” Macy inquired, staring up at the elegant storefront “ _Boutique Alta Roda_ ,” then back at Harry.

“Yes,” Harry replied, as he opened the door for his wife. Upon entering, they noticed the presence of two medium-sized chandeliers overhead, a dark magenta wall on the opposite end, and floor-length ballgowns in just about every color and shade imaginable. The display case to their immediate left, however, drew Macy’s immediate attention—she had seen a gauzy hybrid A-line damask gown with an empire-waisted silver intricately-embroidered design ( _that added just a hint of badassery to the ensemble)_. _Or was it a decorative belt?_ Macy wasn’t entirely sure, but decided to investigate, leaving Harry to his own devices.

Harry, in turn, crossed the store’s front threshold, and made an abrupt left to cross into the adjoining menswear portion of the boutique, aiming to find a tuxedo just as stylish as the one decorating the boutique’s storefront, next to the pale pink dress Macy had been eyeing. _Should he go for the slate-colored suit vest, or drop the style entirely?_ After mulling this over for several minutes, pacing back and forth, he at last decided upon the latter, opting for an altogether more modern look. Plucking several black suit blazers and two pairs of matching slacks, he strode to the dressing room located several feet away.

_1:20 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

“May I help you, miss?” The voice sounded eerily familiar, and Macy turned around, to be faced with a petite, bright blue-eyed older lady wearing beaded bifocals.

“ _Hesper?_ ” Macy spoke incredulously. “I thought you worked in Mykonos--?”

“Oh, that’s my twin sister,” the lady laughed and outstretched her hand. “I’m Hestia, yet another acolyte.” Macy hesitated for the briefest of moments, then shook the proffered, well-manicured hand. “And it’s always a pleasure doing business with the Charmed Ones.”

Macy gave a start. “ _How did you know?”_ she whispered to Hestia.

“If you must know, word travels fast among the acolytes, my dear. How _are_ your three children? Three under age five can’t be all that easy, you know…” Hestia’s owl-like eyes peered directly into Macy’s own.

 _There was so much to unpack here,_ Macy thought to herself, extremely confused.


	10. HM2V: Hestia the Acolyte

10: HM2V: Hestia the Acolyte

_1:30 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

“If you must know, word travels fast among the acolytes, my dear. How _are_ your three children? Three under age five can’t be all that easy, you know…” Hestia’s owl-like eyes peered directly into Macy’s own.

 _There was so much to unpack here,_ Macy thought to herself, extremely confused. “First—what _exactly_ is an acolyte and how come I’ve never heard of them before?”

“My dear,” said Hestia, “acolytes are assistants, followers, or more accurately put, _celebrants_ of all that is good in the magical world.”

“Meaning…” Macy asked, not quite sure that she followed this older lady’s train of thought.

“Meaning, of course, that we take various service positions, such as in retail, to watch over the magical community and hear of the comings and goings of the Charmed Ones. I suppose in modern parlance, that would make us…what is the word?” Hestia paused for a moment. “Ah, _yes._ Groupies!” She and Macy laughed together at that very moment. Even Macy knew what it meant to be a groupie—she definitely recalled putting up posters in her boarding school dorm room of Piper and Leo from an aughts-era TV show, never once imagining for a moment that that could have become her current reality.

“What exactly _do_ you do with the information though, Hestia?” Macy then inquired.

“Nothing _really_ ,” Hestia responded. “Mostly, I used to attend Elder meetings in the backdrop as a secretarial note-taker and inform the Elders if anything particularly dangerous or shocking occurred in the magical realm. Of course, the Elders are no more, so…” Hestia gestured about, “this is my full-time job now.”

_1:50 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

Macy felt something of pity for this grey-haired lady, who had obviously devoted her life to magic, only to have had it disappear on her in an instant. _Life had its unpleasant twists and turns._ “Do you…” Macy hesitated, and swallowed hard. “Do you miss attending the Elder meetings, Hestia?”

Whatever response Macy would have expected, it was not this. Hestia’s eyes bulged, as she broke into cackles of laughter—she laughed so hard for the next minute or so that she cried. After several more minutes, Hestia recovered her composure. “Do _I_ miss them, miss? Absolutely _not!_ Half the time, we acolytes would have to throw Celeste in the adjoining cell ( _the “drunk tank” we called it_ ) for her to sober up. The other quarter of the time was spent fielding coffee requests. I do _not,_ ” she emphasized, with an index finger pointed upward, “miss _that place_ at all!”

“Oh—ok—right,” Macy felt a bit perturbed by Hestia’s extreme reaction, though somewhat more at ease. She then remembered the second question she was going to ask. “Hestia, I only have one child, Maya. Why did you think there were three children?”

Now it was Hestia’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Oh—no reason, miss. Perhaps it was an oversight--- _hmmm…_ yes, an oversight—now _how about this gown?_ Let’s have you try it on for Madame Hestia!” Hestia swooped over Macy’s shoulder and picked up the diaphanous ballgown, draping it over her shoulder, and rapidly walked away, beckoning Macy to follow her to the dressing room. Macy raised an eyebrow, almost as if to dig deeper into the subject, then decided not to. _Perhaps some things were just better left unsaid._

_2:15 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

The damask gown had draped elegantly over Macy’s figure, accentuating her curves and bosom in a way she hadn’t known was possible. _I should really go gown shopping more often_ , she thought to herself, as she paid for the dress and exited the store, the billowing folds of its draped tails flowing in the breeze like the photos of fashion models in high-end magazines she used to skim as a college freshman, back when she was still deciding what to major in.

_2:20 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

Macy had agreed to meet Harry just outside Boutique Alta Roda. _Where was he?_ The sunlight was too bright for her to view her phone’s clock, so she ducked into a nearby unlit alley, readjusting her visibility settings.

“ _Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Valensi,”_ a most familiar crisp, masculine British voice whispered in her ear, enveloped by the surrounding darkness. Macy leaned her head back ever-so-slightly, uttering the softest of moans.


	11. HM2V: B is for Ballroom, C is for Casa do Alentejo

11: HM2V: B is for Ballroom, C is for Casa do Alentejo

_2:30 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Boutique Alta Roda, R. Domingos Sequeira 40-A_

“ _Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Valensi,”_ a most familiar crisp, masculine British voice whispered in her ear, enveloped by the surrounding darkness. Macy leaned her head back ever-so-slightly, uttering the softest of moans.

Macy turned to face Harry; unable to see him fully in the darkness, she felt the thick fabric of his tuxedo, his elegant velveteen cummerbund, and the crisp cotton dress shirt. She was surprised he hadn’t chosen to wear one of his many suit vests, but knew he had been opting for a more modern attire in the past couple of years. Her lips met his, and for a few seductive, electric moments, she knew she wanted him to take her, _now, right here, this very moment._

As though Harry could read her mind, he gently disentangled her wanting arms from his neck, murmuring “ _not yet.”_ He could sense Macy’s pouting expression despite the shadowy locale and set about to assuage her. “ _Do_ pull yourself together, Dr. Valensi. We still have our tickets, remember?”

“ _Fine,_ ” Macy harrumphed; Harry chuckling to himself, offered his arm, and they disappeared once more.

_3 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo_ _Antâo 58, Coat Room_

They landed in an extremely ornate closet, stacked to the nines with silken scarves and women’s handbags. Light filtered in through the bottom crack of a door three feet away. Harry strode forward, opened the door slowly, and peered to the left and right. Once the coast was clear, he beckoned for Macy to step out into the hallway alongside him. She followed, as they both straightened the slight wrinkles in their formalwear.

_3:05 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo_ _Antâo 58, Hallway and Ballroom_

“Where are we, exactly?” Macy asked. This didn’t look anything like the boutiques she and Harry had passed through earlier, the interior didn’t look like a museum (there weren’t any display cases anywhere), and it was far too early for dinner. The surroundings looked far too fancy to be a library, but not fancy enough to be a castle or other type of architectural wonder.

Pushing the next door open, Harry replied, “Casa do Alentejo, for afternoon ballroom dancing lessons.” Macy gasped as they entered an airy ballroom with two large, ornate chandeliers that reminded her of the palace in the “Beauty and the Beast” Disney movie she had watched as a young child. The ceilings appeared to be twenty feet high, with intricate limestone and plaster moldings that surrounded a Baroque ceiling mural of a skyscape surrounded with winged Cupids and other cherubs. There were a multitude of long, broad windows, _sixty panes per window_. Each window was flanked with gold-inlaid carved wood moldings in the shape of a bow that held a cluster of equally glimmering laurel leaves. The wood floor that Macy stood on was a bright pale honey color, which reflected the incoming sunlight refracting and alighting along the mirrors that stood in various corners of the room.

 _Everything was so impressive, that Macy couldn’t help but gawk._ Turning to Harry and squeezing his hand, Macy whispered, “thank you—this is beyond _anything_ I could have ever dreamed.”

“The credit goes to Maggie—she heard about this through a Facebook ad a couple of weeks ago, and I figured since we were both learning about Portuguese culture, _and_ since we had a dating anniversary coming up, well… _surprise?_ ” He reached over and kissed Macy’s now-outstretched hand, and she blushed. _Even after all these years, Harry still hadn’t forgotten how to woo her_. “Oh, and,” he gave her a once-over. “You look _exceptionally_ beautiful this fine Sunday afternoon, Dr. Valensi.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she saucily replied, grinning all the while.

_3:30 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo_ _Antâo 58, Ballroom_

“Can anyone tell me what Kizomba is? _Anyone?_ ” The dancers had begun their tutorial—a handsome, well-toned pair that went by the names of Bella and Lucien. Nobody in the crowd of sixteen or so people raised their hands.

“Kizomba is,” Lucien continued, “a genre of dance originating from Angola in 1984. The word “Kizomba” means “party” in Kimbundu, a regional Bantu language spoken in Angola. It is,” he looked around fiercely, as if daring anyone to challenge him, “one of the most popular genres of dance and music from that region, and is derived from semba, with a mix of Kilapanda and Angolan Merengue. It is sung in the passionate language of love, _Portuguese_.”

Macy resisted the urge to do a quick internet search on her phone. _What on earth was Kilapanda?_ But the discussion continued, and she was determined to pay attention, despite not fully understanding exactly what this dance entailed.

Bella stepped forward, continuing the tutorial. “The language of the Kizomba dance is _romance_. It is an extremely _sensual_ dance, slower in pace than other ballroom dance styles, quite smooth, and has a sort of… _what is the word?_ ” She paused. “Ah, _yes._ Intimacy _._ Yes, _intimacy_. This style requires you to dance cheek to cheek with your chosen partner. To all the world, it will look like you are making sweet, sensuous love with your dance partner.” A few nervous titterings could be heard throughout the crowd of novice dancers.

Harry and Macy looked at each other, then back at Bella. _Sweet, sensuous love? In front of…14 other people (not including the dance instructors)?_ Both felt just a trifle uneasy at this oddly voyeuristic analogy. Just then, a man in the back of the ballroom raised his hand, interrupting their thoughts entirely. “Yes, sir?” Lucien called out loudly.

“Dude, is Kizomba basically, y’know, like, _bachata_?” The man’s words appeared to wound Lucien’s soul; Lucien sucked in his breath sharply, counted to three _(um, dos, tr_ _ês)_ before responding.

“No!” Lucien exclaimed sharply. Bella laid one of her willowy arms on Lucien’s shoulder, as if in gentle admonishment. “I mean— _sir_ —no, it is not quite bachata. Firstly, bachata is from the Dominican Republic. Kizomba originates from Angola. Second, bachata has a four-beat rhythm, whereas Kizomba alternates between two and three beat moves. See our demonstration.” Lucien and Bella clasped hands, slowly showing the dance movements in tandem with their recited rhythmic beat.

“Kizomba,” Bella stated, “is generally slower than bachata.” Lucien nodded in agreement. “Kizomba is danced very close in proximity—the chests are supposed to touch, whereas in bachata, there is no chest-touching, though there are plenty of other positions—knee-to-knee, for instance. Think _less_ speed _,_ but _more_ undercurrents of magical, hypnotic energy _,_ if you will,” Bella stated, regarding the novices carefully.

 _Magic, huh?_ Macy looked at Harry, as they both smiled to themselves. _Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boutique Alta Roda is an actual clothing store in Lisbon, Portugal, and its storefront (from an old photo perhaps?) has the very dress and suit Macy and Harry wear to their dance lesson.
> 
> Located in Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo is a real-life Moorish palace converted into a restaurant and cultural activities center of sorts. Dancing takes place Sundays at 3:30 pm in its ballroom (assuming all is well with the world, et cetera).
> 
> Kizomba is, according to background research, a genre of dance originating from Angola in 1984. The word “Kizomba” means “party” in Kimbundu, a regional Bantu language spoken in Angola. It is derived from semba, with a mix of Kilapanda and Angolan Merengue, and if you look at YouTube videos, you will be entranced with the dance movements demonstrated.


	12. HM2V: D'ici et D'ailleurs

12: HM2V: D’ici et D’ailleurs

_3:35 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

_Magic, huh?_ Macy looked at Harry, as they both smiled to themselves. _Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all._

_3:45 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

_Shift weight, sway hips,_ Harry told himself, though he himself felt as though he were mechanically talking himself through the motions. Glancing forward inches away from his own visage, he then looked past Macy’s shoulder to a corner mirror, where he could see her bottom swaying _left_ and _right_ , and _quite sensually so_. He had a sudden urge to slap her backside but repressed the thought within his mind— _he was in public, for heaven’s sake!_

“Like what you see, Mr. Valensi?” Macy murmured into his ear as they danced, one step left on the 1st bass beat, _forward left step_ , _next foot, then backstep…_

Harry swooped and Macy gasped, as he dipped her downward per the ballroom dance demonstration earlier. _“_ Yes, Dr. Valensi, I most _certainly_ do,” he whispered into her curls, tickling her ear. He could have sworn he heard an audible sigh being uttered from her lovely lips.

_4:20 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

Bella and Lucien glanced across the room. The students appeared to have learned the Kizomba dance routine well enough; it was time to put their skills to the test.

“Everyone, it is now freestyle time!” Bella clapped her hands for attention. She motioned a thumbs-up to Lucien, who clicked on the next song in his heavily-curated Kizomba playlist. “It is now time for _you_ ” she pointed to everyone, “to show _us_ ,” gesturing to herself and Lucien, “what you can do.”

“The artist is the French-Algerian beauty Soha, with her song “ _Mil Pasos_ ” from the album “ _D’ici et d’ailleurs.”_ From where Bella and I are from, Soha is _quite_ famous for her musical style, which incorporates Cuban, Latin, jazz, reggae, and soul. She mixes these and creates something wholly, uniquely, of her own expression.“ announced Lucien. “She is quite entrancing…” Bella rolled her eyes and poked him on the shoulder impatiently.

Lucien hurriedly continued. “It is, _of course_ , also the song Bella and I danced to, which garnered us over 34 million “likes” on YouTube. Feel free to subscribe to us online, and _muito obrigado—_ thank you for your time!” With that, Bella and Lucien departed, and the couples were left to dance to the sultry tune themselves.

_4:21 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

_Shift weight, sway hips, left-right-step…_

The first few beats of the song began with light drumming, followed by the softest shrug of the maracas Harry and Macy had ever heard in its use. _At nineteen seconds in, a sultry low female voice came on, singing in what sounded to be the Spanish language, accompanied by a stringed instrument—was it a guitar? A mandolin? It sounded too soulful to be just_ any _guitar…_

Harry and Macy stepped forward, following the heartbeat, the thrum of the music, the bass note undertones, and when the next shuffle of the maracas surfaced, Harry swiveled Macy and they continued to dance, her breasts on his broad, muscular chest, her legs aligned with Harry’s matching them movement-for-movement, her crotch to his, and _so_ forth _…It was only by virtue of the music and the public nature of the dance class that he didn’t seize up her deliciously silky ballgown and take her on the floor right then and there…_

A male voice was heard at roughly forty-five seconds in, as if asking his female lover a question, as she posited a low-sounding mellifluous answer—it seemed as though he were inquiring of her the same question twice, then _three_ times, then they chorused together, as if in resignation over the challenges they faced in their passionate love story and the difficulties they experienced in sharing that love while interacting with the world’s trials and tribulations at large. _Or, at least, that’s how the music sounded to Macy. What will it take for us to stay together in a world full of terror?_ That, and she hadn’t realized _just_ how starved for touch she and Harry both had been…

The haunting melody continued, and Harry dipped Macy once more, then scooped her up as they silently continued dancing, never once breaking eye contact with each other. At the start of the next beat, Harry gently lifted Macy upward, and she popped her ankle into the air, _just so_. Three beats later, Harry motioned for her to try Bella’s signature move from earlier, in which her toes remained inert, her body at a 45 degree angle to the ballroom floor, as Harry turned her about. He called this “the merry-go-round,” which made Macy giggle like a schoolgirl. Then, they suddenly found themselves facing each other, as they experimented with their next Kizomba dance move, gyrating their hips in synchronicity to each other; Macy regarded Harry’s now-smoldering eyes with a fierce intensity, determined to be the best dance partner Harry had ever had in this lifetime.

_4:50 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

The music faded away, and the pair were left the only ones standing as various other couples trickled out of the expansive ballroom.

“We really need to do this again,” breathed Harry.

“I wholeheartedly concur, Mr. Valensi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In real life, Soha is a talented French-Algerian singer from Marseille, whose “Mil Pasos” song from her album “D’ici et d’ailleurs” has been widely played throughout Europe. The song has been recorded in at least four languages: Spanish, French, Italian, and Turkish. Her distinctive style incorporates Cuban, Latin, jazz, reggae, and soul.
> 
> I was inspired to write this chapter by Isabelle & Felicien's exquisitely choreographed Kizomba dance to Soha's "Mil Pasos" remixed version by DJ Paparazzi & DJ Ashh, produced by Pilate Beljour and available on his YouTube channel here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dm_TzKprOls


	13. HM2V: Courtyard Musings

13: HM2V: Courtyard Musings

_4:50 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

“We really need to do this again,” breathed Harry.

“I wholeheartedly concur, Mr. Valensi.”

_5 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Courtyard_

Harry and Macy exited the ballroom at last, making their way down the expansive corridor, making a right, another right, and a left some feet away; they found themselves at a courtyard fountain. Their restaurant reservation wasn’t for another half hour at least, so they had ample time to explore their surroundings.

Macy noticed that the wood flooring had switched to glossy, glass-like reflective maroon tiles, dotted every which way with a robin eggshell blue-colored tile that appeared to have a flower design. At the center of the courtyard was a 5x5 foot round-edged fountain, a bit small in comparison to its scaled, decorative surroundings, but perhaps that was the general idea. The tiny steps past the fountain were inlaid with rhombus-shaped blue-patterned designs, with white and red intricacies therein. Two green marble pillars sprouted forth from either side of the 8-foot-wide staircase, with a tiny bit of shelving at their tops, allowing for the presence of a gold-painted lantern on either side.

These pillars would have been impressive enough on their own, but an archway connected the two pillars as well, in what Macy believed was indicative of the African, Arabic, and otherwise Moorish influences of the past centuries, with its scalloped edged inner arch decorated towards its top, with geometric multi-karat gold printing and what appeared to be inlaid lapis lazuli, a rich, powdery blue semi-precious stone.

There was a tiny balcony just above the Moorish archway, that held in its stands four richly hued national flags. Macy and Harry stepped closer to examine each of them. One was a cheerful and bright buttercup yellow, interspersed with black and a center of green, the color of freshly mown grass. The second was an atmospheric blue color with white along the edges, and a hint of ruby red. The third flag appeared red as well, but on second glance, took on a magenta-like hue. The final flag was white atop a deep navy blue, with what looked to be the sky blue intricate crest of a famous family of some sort.

_5:20 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Courtyard_

Looking to their left and right, the pair noticed various tall palm leaved potted plants decorating the courtyard, along with three or so smaller-sized potted plants and ferns. A couple of benches were at the courtyard’s edges. At first glance, the benches appeared to be akin to those typically found in parks. On a closer look, however, they seemed as though they belonged locked up in the nearest history museum. Macy ran her lithe fingers over the fanciful, looped carvings atop the back of the nearest teak bench; she regarded with silent fascination the three indents within the wood’s backseat, shaped like the famed towers of India’s crown jewel, the Taj Mahal.

“The chairs don’t bite, Dr. Valensi,” Harry strode up behind her. Macy shot him an amused look, then sat, uttering a sigh of relief as her legs were exhausted from her and Harry’s earlier exercise; Harry perched himself beside his wife. From Macy’s particular vantage point of the courtyard, its darkened outer hallway edges reminded her of a cross between a meditative monastery and an Arabic oil magnate’s home.

“ _We’re certainly not in Kansas anymore_ ,” she murmured, half to herself, thinking suddenly of “The Wizard of Oz.”


	14. HM2V: A is for Azeitonas

14: HM2V: A is for Azeitonas

_5:20 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Courtyard_

“We’re certainly not in Kansas anymore,” she murmured, half to herself, thinking suddenly of “ _The Wizard of Oz._ ”

_5:20 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Restaurant_

Macy surveyed the menu, not recognizing half the terms that were listed. The words swam through her brain. _Azeitonas? Alentejana?_ She recognized “ _sopa_ ” as soup and knew “ _crème de legumes_ ” involved beans of some sort—perhaps. “ _Porco_ ” sounded like “pork” and “ _salada de fruitas_ ” was probably in all likelihood “fruit salad.” She looked across the tableclothed table at Harry, who was trying to mask his own befuddlement. They had, in the past year, made it a mission to learn as much rudimentary Portuguese as they could, but progress was slow.

 _“Boa tarde,”_ the waiter said, surveying Macy and Harry. “ _Qual_ _é o seu pedido?”_

“Queria uma garrafa de água com gás,” Macy replied, indicating her beverage of choice to be sparkling water for the table. “Lombo de salmão,” she said crisply. Harry appeared suitably impressed by his dining companion’s grasp of the Portiguese language.

The waiter then directed his attention to Harry. “Err…. _uma garrafa…_ ” he hesitated, then said, “ _azeitonas, con manteiga…”_ pointing at the fixed price menu item listed. The waiter nodded, scribbling on his pad of paper, then disappeared off into the kitchen. Reaching for Macy’s hand, Harry looked her in the eye. “I must say, Macy, your linguistic skills have shown _remarkable_ progress since our last soujourn.”

Macy’s eyes twinkled. “There’s something to be said for Duolingo lessons at midnight while soothing a colicky baby.”

“So I’ve noticed…” Harry murmured. “ _So I’ve noticed_.” His eyes couldn’t help but travel to Macy’s smooth cheekbones, her sun-kissed neck, and her curly hair that looked as though the goddess Aphrodite herself had anointed it. His gaze traveled downward, past her neckline to the lower center of her damask dress front, noticing how her cleavage was bound underneath such gauzy, sylph-like fabrics. _Snap out of it!_ Harry told himself sternly. _You are in. A. Restaurant._ He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tingling nerves of his hands, imagining what it would be like to grasp those curls once more, inhaling her scent for a little bit longer…

His thoughts were interrupted by his dinner companion initiating conversation once more. “Do you actually know what you ordered, Harry?” Macy, vaguely amused, tried not to injure Harry’s pride but was curious nonetheless.

“To be quite honest… _no_.” Harry regarded Macy with a twinkle in his eyes. “Though if I do remember correctly, “ _azeitonas_ ” are olives, and “ _tamboril_ ” is a type of fish. The rest, I’ll leave to chance.”

“How _very_ adventurous of you, Harry,” Macy remarked. “If I remember correctly, isn’t that how we got engaged, and how I became pregnant that same night?”

“ _Au contraire_ ,” Harry murmured in the deep, throaty whisper that always made Macy’s toes curl. “We were destined to be married. The pregnancy was a bodily fulfillment of our passion. _You know that, just as well as I do._ And even if you hadn’t become pregnant that night, you certainly would have before one year of marriage were reached, I can guarantee you that, _”_ Harry gave a knowing look to Macy, who blushed ever-so-slightly.

Just then, the waiter arrived with their dishes. Macy’s salmon dish was piping hot, with crispy miniature roasted potatoes fresh from the oven, topped with delicate flakes of sea salt. Harry’s monkfish dish arrived with a side of cured olives, all topped with what looked to be thinly grated wild white-colored mushrooms and slivers of olive oil-baked croutons. The waiter departed after proclaiming a hearty _“Bom apetite!”_ to Macy and Harry, who tucked into their respective dishes; the time spent dancing earlier had certainly whetted their appetites.

_6:25 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Restaurant_

“So, continuing our conversation…” Macy glanced over at Harry; their dishes were both polished clean. Portuguese, and by extension, European restaurants gave smaller, more practical single-serving portions than their American counterparts, whose hefty serving sizes created the practice of doggy bags, and enough food to last a family for a week. “Maya’s three years old, and I heard, according to my online research, that it’s the perfect time to…” Macy’s voice trailed off, and she looked down at the table, uncertain as to how to broach the subject.

“The perfect time to…?” Harry inquired, lifting Macy’s chin gently and gazing into Macy’s expressive eyes.

“…To add to our family. I mean…” Macy was trying to figure out how to best broach family planning while adhering to the sensuous nature of that which was lovemaking. “If we wait until I’m thirty-five, which is two years away, that means when Maya’s ten, she’d be babysitting a preschooler, and I’d much rather her have a sibling closer to her own age. There’s nothing wrong with a five-year age gap, just my own preferences as a mother. Plus, fertility—if we wait too long, Maya could end up an only child, when I’d envisioned her having a sibling.”

Macy locked eyes with Harry, her voice quivering. “If something happens to me, I want her to have someone closer to her own age to confide in. You understand that, _don’t you, Harry_?” Harry clasped Macy’s hand in his own and nodded. “I know we’ve been busy parents, running a scientific business and all, but it’s definitely something we should think about.”

“I understand _perfectly_ , Macy, more than you know. Honestly, I was waiting for you to give the go-ahead…”

“ _Me?_ I thought I had—back when, y’know, I fell asleep on the couch before movie night and we were munching on popcorn and drinking seltzer,” Macy remarked. “Or does your memory fail you, Mr. Valensi?”

Harry smiled enigmatically. “I wanted to make sure you were deciding this for yourself—for your own reasons— _the right reasons_. Not because,” he said leaning forth, whispering almost conspiratorially, “you had a dream about a boy and a girl, or because the elderly lady acolyte in the boutique told you to.”

Macy couldn’t help but laugh. “I gather that you heard Hestia?”

“It wasn’t all that difficult, seeing as we were her only two customers, love. I’m not completely oblivious to these things,” Harry responded.

“ _I see_. Well, if you _must_ know, Mr. Valensi, my reproductive choice will most certainly _not_ be dictated by an octogenarian saleslady, nor by an evening fever dream. I am a cosmopolitan, wise woman of the world. A woman with a good head on her shoulders—”

“I surmised as much.” He flagged down the waiter who had been standing at a discreet distance and paid for their meal. They rose from their seats, walked out of the restaurant, back through the courtyard, and down the long, seemingly endless, now-darkened hallways.

_7 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

Harry murmured a spell, which caused the fifteen-foot palatial doors leading to the ballroom to creak open, ever-so-slowly. He bade Macy to enter, then closed the door behind him, uttering words to relock and soundproof the entrance.


	15. HM2V: Kizomba & Kisses

15: HM2V: Kizomba & Kisses

_7 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

Harry murmured a spell, which caused the fifteen-foot palatial doors leading to the ballroom to creak open, ever-so-slowly. He bade Macy to enter, then closed the door behind him, uttering words to relock and soundproof the entrance.

“The class was over hours ago, Harry—why did you want to come back?” Macy asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, if you must know, I’ve wanted to rehearse those Kizomba steps with you again, and we don’t have nearly enough room to practice in our Azores condo, given the detritus on the floor—”

“And by detritus, you mean Maya’s age-appropriate educational toys,” Macy finished.

“Yes— _those_.” He brought Macy further into the airy deserted space, the only source of light being the luminous moon whose reflection filtered through the half-closed curtains surrounding each multi-paned window.

_7:02 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

Harry noticed Macy stretching her legs, doing a _triple step right_ , then a _triple step left_ , common to most ballroom swing dance styles. _She must have learned back in college_ , he realized, watching her move her left foot forward, back, the same with her right foot, and back. _Clever girl._ Harry watched as she reached within a hidden pocket of her gown for her phone, clicking to a playlist; soon, the sultry rhythm of “Mil Pasos” could be heard permeating every edge and crevice of the shadow-filled, expansive space.

_7:03 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

_Shift weight, sway hips, left-right-step…_

The first few enthralling beats of the song began with light drumming, followed by the familiar whisper of maracas. _At nineteen seconds in, a sultry Spanish-speaking female began singing in a modern “come hither” tone, accompanied by a soulful guitar, whose alluring melody unleashed within Harry and Macy their passionate, innermost emotions of their very being._

The two stepped forward, following the hypnotic heartbeat, the bewitching thrum of the music, and the bass note undertones; when the next shuffle of the maracas took place, Harry swiveled Macy ninety degrees to the right and they continued their fluid movements, remembering what they had learned hours earlier in their Kizomba dance tutorial. Macy placed her left hand behind the most sensitive part of Harry’s neck, as Harry’s right hand firmly planted itself at Macy’s lower back, guiding her through the mesmerizing motions, being a leader, as per the lesson. She involuntarily arched her spine, wondering what it would be like, if mid-way through their dance, his hand were to travel downward, exploring other parts of her body…

As it were, Macy’s breasts were firmly ensconced in Harry’s broad, muscular chest, her legs magnetically aligned with Harry’s matching them movement-for-movement. _As though they were physically merging from two to one, throughout the course of this captivating song,_ thought Macy. It took a certain degree of trust and vulnerability to expose oneself to one’s dance partner this way, such that it was implicitly understood that one could only dance the Kizomba with someone highly trustworthy—a true friend, who perhaps, was a lover and husband all in one. _Someone, in other words, who had already seen her naked._

Macy could hear Harry’s breath hitch as her crotch aligned squarely to his, as she stepped forward with her left foot, deliberately shaking her bottom, _knowing full well, he loved the view,_ using her toned thighs to rub Harry’s own with a not-so-subtle amount of friction. “ _Macy,”_ he whispered, ”are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“ _Trust me_ ,” Macy replied, kissing the underside of his neck as she subtly steered her companion toward the outer edges of the spacious ballroom.

_7:04 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

The music stopped, with Macy and Harry still intertwined in their extraordinarily close Kizomba dance pose; Macy’s left hand had remained on the nape of Harry’s neck, and Harry’s hand continued to rest on her lower back. _How much distance stood between them now?_ Macy wondered, in this momentary pause. _Less than an inch? No. Not even a millimeter separated themselves,_ she thought, as her back abruptly collided with one of the smooth palatial walls’ roughly 3.5-foot-tall bureau drawers that she hadn’t noticed before.

Macy gyrated once more onto Harry, who uttered a gasp, but didn’t tell her to stop, instead lifting her thighs onto the bureau; locking eyes, they understood that anyone could choose to pass by the room at any given time. _Time was of the essence_ , Macy understood, hurriedly unclasping Harry’s belt and unbuttoning the top button of his trousers, freeing his now-hard self, now springing forth from the clothed entrapment beneath.

Harry gave Macy’s sumptuous behind a tight squeeze, followed by the hardest of slaps, which echoed across the room. She gasped wordlessly, biting his shoulder to stifle the shrieks she would have uttered, as he moved her silken underwear aside, inserting himself into her now-drenched folds. “ _Fuck_ ,” they whispered in unison, as Harry intimately reacquainted himself with the torrid heat within, thrusting tentatively at first, then faster, reaching for Macy’s curls and pulling them, eliciting a muffled moan from her, as her balmy lips made contact with his hair, just above his forehead.

_It felt as though Harry were entering a scorching vessel; he couldn’t recall the last time it had felt this hot. Unbeknownst to each other, he and Macy exerted magical forces upon themselves in a hypnotically enchanted mélange to be reckoned with, their sensual embrace characterized by limbs, his and hers, grasping and clawing each other, ignoring any semblance of polite choreography, as they merged and became one, once more._

_This desirous hunger, the insatiable passionate high heat that he and Macy together fostered, created within his stiffened self the all-too-familiar pulsating sensation, a lion-like muscular stretching, reminiscent of a climb up a mountainous realm, a reaching beyond of sorts, a heady summitting or a death-defying leap, he could not tell the difference and neither could she, in the cover of darkness and shadows that surrounded their supple figures actively stirring in seductively energetic fervor. He shivered as he drew close, indicating to her as such, and she bit his shoulder again, causing him to gasp, unleashing at last his own warm essence within her, intermingling with her own._


	16. R&N: Mount Ranier Rose Rhee

16: R&N: Mount Ranier Rose Rhee

_7:04 pm Lisbon, Portugal, Casa do Alentejo, R. das Portas de Santo Antâo 58, Ballroom_

_He shivered as he drew close, indicating to her as such, and she bit his shoulder again, causing him to gasp, unleashing at last his own warm essence within her, intermingling with her own._

_2 pm, Next Day, New York City, R2 Design Studio_

It was yet another sweltering, summery Monday in the city, but within R2 studio, one wouldn’t know it, with its snow-colored interior, from the high, expansive ceiling, to its minimalist spare walls and Swedish-style modern furniture.

Naturally platinum blond, Rani’s cropped hair undulated as she shook her head, or nodded in approval, closely examining the artwork of her five high school-age charges. _Summer school for the college CV,_ she thought to herself, knowing she was helping prepare her students for a future at RISD or SCAD. Her word meant gold in the design industry, so her students, meticulously hand-picked, were the sort to go above and beyond, as eager to please as they were.

 _They’re so self-actualized for their age_ , Rani thought, in silent admiration, watching over her stylized rimmed eyeglasses as each student dipped their brushes into various pearl, opalescent, bleach, and eggshell colors. Their task today had been to distinguish purely by sight and visual texture, the subtle differences of these hues, which an ordinary person would have simply called “white.” _Where had she been, at their age?_

 _Certainly not taking a prestigious art clinic, that much was for certain._ Her parents had bitterly divorced over one summer while she herself had been in the throes of the misery called high school. She had already been, more or less, an outcast—a bona fide misfit—it wasn’t due to her half Asian heritage coupled with her striking platinum hair, but was rather a result of her hippie outdoorsy parents having the bright idea to name her Mount Ranier Rose Rhee.

 _A girl with the first name Mount was always bound to attract trouble_. After the first weeks of abject torment, she tried to break into the school’s roster to change her name to “Rani,” in the hopes that records from then onward would naturally erase this stain on her existence. Unfortunately, the principal’s secretary caught her mid-act, and she was forced to clean chalkboards for the next month. The trouble hadn’t ended there; though she was naturally gifted in abstract art and design and had obtained a scholarship to a reputable collegiate academy, her home life was tumultuous. Her parents had discovered a performance art photo of her then-partner, leading to an escalation (doing magic _and_ being lesbian), and she unceremoniously found herself kicked out her childhood home. _She was only nineteen._

Rani had then found herself in her great-aunt Celeste’s apartment at the time; the crotchety old soul had a warm sense of humor and a dry wit that matched her own. Celeste taught her to live again—to embrace the adrenaline rush of channeling magic for one’s endeavors. In the midst of it all, Mount Ranier Rose Rhee legally changed her name to “Rani Ri”, or R2, as she was commonly known in the art circles of New York City.

_2:30 pm, New York City, R2 Design Studio_

Rani’s phone buzzed loudly within her pocket; she pulled it out, puzzled. Her class was already in session, all of her students were fully accounted for, and she had no earthly idea why someone would interrupt her class at this time of day.

She skimmed through the first line of the text. _Great-Aunt Celeste incinerated._ She gave a sharp gasp, eliciting looks of concern from her students “Carry on, carry on…” Rani bade them continue, as she staggered past their canvases and into the other room, slamming the door behind her.

Knowing that far worse was to follow, she unlocked her phone to read the rest of the text’s contents.

_Great-Aunt Celeste incinerated. Remains in dumpster, Seattle outskirts. Investigation underway._

_-Mom._

The wind knocked out of her, Rani sank to the floor and screamed, glad for once in her life that the room she chose was 100% soundproof.

_2:50 pm, New York City, R2 Design Studio_

_Why couldn’t her own mother have the dignity to notify her in person, or do something other than a text in the middle of a deceptively beautiful summer afternoon?_ Rani was always the last to be informed of family tragedies, even though she and her once-estranged parents had tenuously reconciled in the past year or so. She thought she would have been owed something just a bit more… _appropriate_ for the circumstances.

 _She doesn’t need to know_ , Rani could imagine them saying. _What could she possibly have in common with a retired woman from Mykonos, anyways?_ Her breathing escalated as her eyes whirled around the room, searching for a blank canvas, a scrap of newspaper, a piece of notebook paper— _anything_.

_2:58 pm, New York City, R2 Design Studio_

Rani realized that nearly half an hour had passed since she had left her students in the other room. She hadn’t shed any tears—for whatever physiological reason, tears never came easily for those she mourned for the most—just yelling. _And ripping. And tearing,_ she mused to herself ironically, eyeing the torn pieces of paper now strewn across the room, the motions of which had created a certain level of innate catharsis within her soul.

_3 pm, New York City, R2 Design Studio_

“Class is dismissed,” Rani announced, as the students sat in their seats, all in a circle as when she had retreated earlier.

“But—”

“Ms. Ri—”

Rani put her had up to halt any and all protestations. “Class is dismissed _now._ Family emergency.” She could detect the barest hint of sighs and surreptitious eye-rolls, but she ignored them, turning away to text her girlfriend.

 _Nico,_ Rani typed, _family emergency—Great-Aunt Celeste._ With that, Rani tucked her phone into her pocket, grabbed her purse, and closed up shop for the day, her thoughts racing.


	17. R&N: A Tale of Two Girls

17: R&N: A Tale of Two Girls

_3 pm, New York City, R2 Design Studio_

_Nico,_ Rani typed, _family emergency—Great-Aunt Celeste._ With that, Rani tucked her phone into her pocket, grabbed her purse, and closed up shop for the day, her thoughts racing.

_3:30 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

Rani entered the front room of the brownstone she shared with her girlfriend of a couple years, Nico. Pacing around, she switched on the television, deciding to flop down on the couch and watch a movie about yellow-colored pill-shaped alien-like creatures that brought their cantankerous caretaker reluctant amounts of joy.

She heard a ping from her phone. _OMG I’m so sorry_ , it read. _I’ll see what I can dig up from the DA’s office. Ttyl ~N_

Rani smiled, despite herself. _Having a detective for a girlfriend certainly came in handy._

_7 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

The keyhole rattled, and the door turned; a tall woman with shoulder-length dark hair entered. _Nico_. “I come bearing gifts,” Nico said softly, kissing Rani, who was still situated on the couch, having continued onto the sequel of the first movie about pill-shaped alien-like creatures. Rani switched off the television and walked over to the kitchen, where Nico was readying the evening’s dinner. She skimmed over the vegetables and product labels. _Spaghetti pasta with puttanesca sauce, fresh basil leaves, tomatoes, and mozzarella._

“For you,” Nico handed Rani a small bouquet of flowers in a Mason jar she had purchased from the afternoon Farmer’s Market. Rani took the glass, examining the beautiful petals and blossoms. _Cream, ecru, eggshell, and pearl_ , placing it in the center of the kitchen table nearby.

Nico deftly sliced the fresh buffalo mozzarella and the ripened tomato, layering each on a flat white plate, adding a stray leaf of basil here and there. She prepared a potful of water and set it on the stove for several minutes.

_7:15 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

The pot began to boil as the spaghetti pasta was slowly added; Nico continued to stir, then drained the pasta through a colander in the sink as Rani watched, sitting at the table, contemplating the strange and terrible pronouncement earlier that day. “Dinner is served,” Nico announced, setting the dishes and accompanying plates on the small table.

“Thanks,” Rani murmured, taking Nico’s hand in her own. She remembered when she had met Nico at one of her art gallery events; she had been with someone at the time that looked as if she were of magical origin. Rani had expected, as was common in her life, to be interrogated once more. _Are you Asian? What brand of Asian? Is it true all Asians speak Chinese? Did you dye your hair blond? Is your hair fake?_

But Nico had done none of that. She had simply gazed upon Rani across the room, then moments later, stepped forward to introduce herself. “I’m Nico, and I _love_ your hair.” _Those simple words and a charming look._ Nico, being a certain variety of Asian herself as it turned out, wasn’t one for asking highly intrusive questions of others, choosing instead to patiently wait things out, until the other grew comfortable enough to reveal their secrets, whether it was in a pristine gallery or in a Brownstone apartment in Brooklyn at the wee hours of the morning.

Rani remembered as if it had been yesterday. Nico had returned several weeks after the last gallery showing, but without her then-partner at the time. “Where’s your friend?” Rani recalled asking her.

“We separated,” Nico replied.

“I’m sorry—” Rani began.

“Don’t be, we just—we just grew apart,” Nico answered. “Do you…d’you want to meet me for drinks after work?” Rani nodded, hardly able to believe her luck.

And so it had begun.

_7:35 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

Rani ate a final morsel of spaghetti, after spreading the thin strands of pasta along the edge of her plate to soak up remnants of the puttanesca sauce. “This is delicious, Nico.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Nico replied softly.

“Is this an “ _I’m sorry your great-aunt got incinerated”_ meal?” Rani asked matter-of-factly, as they rose to place the dishes in the sink.

Nico couldn’t help but laugh, despite the highly unfortunate circumstances. “It’s the least I could do as your girlfriend. I mean, it’s not like there’s a playbook on “How to Comfort Your Same-Sex Partner When Her Family Member is Eviscerated” right?”

“Yeah, not really,” responded Rani, reaching for the sponge to scrub and wash each of the dishes.

“And the flowers—I get you’re not the emotional type, but whenever you have a shitty day, you love getting blossoms in several shades of eggshell, or whatever…” Nico trailed off, as she began placing each of Rani’s handed-over dishes into the adjoining dish rack. “It sucks about your great-aunt, but it also doubly sucks you found out over text.” Rani wordlessly nodded, as they completed their task and sat back down at the kitchen table.

_7:45 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

“Are you sure you want to discuss this now, Rani?” Nico regarded Rani closely. “We can move this to tomorrow if you want—”

“No. I’d like the details now—rip off the bandage,” replied Rani.

“ _Okay. Okay then._ ” Nico reached into her large suitcase-style Rowan satchel purse, pulling out a single manila folder, opening up the bevy of documents to the first page. “Celeste disappeared a week and a half ago from her home in the Mykonos region of the Grecian Isles, and resurfaced briefly on the northern corridor of Seattle, according to various witnesses who had spotted an imperious woman with long, dark, distinctive robes with a hint of ocean-blue turquoise trim.”

“Yup, sounds exactly like Great-Auntie Celeste,” Rani murmured. “So then what?”

“Reports show that she disappeared once more, then…” Nico hesitated, briefly flipping through the subsequent pages. “Are you really sure you’re ready for this, Rani?” Rani motioned for her to continue, so Nico did. “The next sighting was the morning after a dumpster fire was reported in the city’s outskirts. Due to advancements in the field of forensics, scientists were able to extract a portion of her DNA and compare it to their crime records.”

“Celeste had a criminal history?!” Rani seemed shocked at having heard this.

“Not exactly,” Nico remarked, continuing to thumb through the second page. “The DNA swab matched her dental records from the late 1950s when she was arrested as part of a Beatnik era protest.”

 _Beatniks—as in, sexual liberation, bohemian hedonists, and spontaneous creativity. Huh,_ mused Rani. There was so much she hadn’t known about her strait-laced relative back in the day. It explained why Celeste willingly took her under her wing as her budding protégé, nurturing Rani’s artistic skill and allowing her, several years ago, to redecorate Celeste’s very own Mykonos home, transforming it from an antiquated mode to sleek, minimalist, modern elegance.

 _Everything would have been perfect, had Nico not catapulted herself into Rani’s life._ Celeste had become livid one evening some years ago as she and Rani walked the Grecian cobblestone footpath to the front porch. They sat on the two chairs overlooking the glimmering Mykonian sunset and the aged pedestrians below; Rani had begun telling Celeste that she had met someone. Instead of offering her sly comments and sarcastic-but-well meaning jabs, Celeste expressed anger that her beloved great-niece was “ _throwing all her talent away for a floozy_.” _It wasn’t like that_ , Rani thought indignantly at the time, trying to formulate appropriate language so that Celeste would see sense. But Celeste was having none of it. _It’s either her or me,_ Celeste indicated. Rani left Mykonos that same night for New York City; she hadn’t spoken to Celeste since.

“Thanks for the deets,” Rani looked Nico squarely in the eye. “I can take things from here.”


	18. R&N: Kintsugi Gold

18: R&N: Kintsugi Gold

_7:45 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

“Thanks for the deets,” Rani looked Nico squarely in the eye. “I can take things from here.”

_8:50 pm PDT/11:50 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

Rani checked over shoulder to where Nico was sound asleep. Slipping quietly out of bed, she tiptoed to the bathroom, donned her white leather gloves, gathered her purse, and orbed out quietly into the night.

_8:52 pm PDT, Outskirts of Seattle, Dumpster_

Ducking under the police tape, Rani slowly walked around the dumpster’s perimeter, surveying the unmistakable scorch marks emanating from the structure that extended outward to the adjoining brick buildings. _Magic had been used here, she was sure of it._ Rani could sense the heavy weight of unseen forces bearing down on her consciousness, as though wind, earth, and fire had converged in an unnatural convolution.

From her college courses entitled “The Art of Dumpster Diving” and “Trash into Treasure,” she recalled that Seattle had switched years ago from metal dumpsters to plastic. Made from 100% high density polyethylene, these plastic containers were lightweight, easy to transport. _Easy to hide a body in, if one had a mind to,_ she thought to herself.

Rani gingerly rubbed her gloved index finger along the smoothened edges of the dumpster’s blown-out top, which had a thin, nearly undetectable layer of gold dust. Typically, ordinary damage would include jagged markings. What she observed of the structure before her reminded her of a more sinister form of _Kintsugi,_ the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by affixing the cleaved areas with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, creating a new masterpiece. _Highly advanced magic_ , Rani thought. _If Great-Aunt Celeste had been fully in touch with her powers, she wouldn’t have met her demise here_. _Perhaps she had been knocked unconscious?_

Which led Rani to commence pacing forward to where the brick edges met the main corridor, and backward to where the shadows of Seattle’s darkness loomed ever-larger, eventually hitting a dead end in the form of a ten-foot-tall chain link fence. _No clues, none except for a bit of gold dust…_ Rani stopped in her tracks and retraced her steps from the furthest left-hand corner of the fence. Examining the atmospheric air with her fingers, she detected a shift, indicating that an unusual object or set of object had to have lain nearby. _Bingo._ Rani’s thumb brushed against two tiny items torn from their owners and now affixed to the fence—a pair of tiny crow’s feathers. _Symbols of the Sarcana. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Rani that her great-aunt had, with age, become increasingly foolhardy, attempting the magical realm’s equivalent of stock market gambling. From when they had last spoken in Mykonos, Rani gathered that Celeste’s mental faculties had been in a steady decline._

Rani removed the crow feathers from the fence, and was about to depart back to the comfort of her Brookstone apartment, when she caught a glimpse of a tiny piece of— _hair? Or something else?—_ mere inches away from where the feathers had been. It was, as she carefully disentangled it, a single strand of thread that looked unmistakably as though it belonged to a Dominatrix black leather jacket. _Abigael’s._

_12:10 am, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

Rani arrived back to her bathroom; Nico remained fast asleep. Her life of countless investigations worthy of a crime thriller (or several, perhaps) meant that she fell into a stupor nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow. Rani shed her purse on the floor near her nightstand and removed her white gloves, carrying them into the kitchen. As always, she would disinfect them by hand.

_12:30 am, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

After disinfecting her gloves, Rani made herself a cup of peppermint tea; she microwaved a ceramic mug of faucet water ( _unlike Nico, who always used filtered refrigerated water)_ , steeping the teabag for two minutes exactly. Rani then placed the teabag in a miniature eggshell-colored ceramic cup on the counter. She sat at the kitchen table with a piece of watercolor paper she’d had on hand ( _the closest thing to writing paper she had in the apartment, as her art tools were all back in R2 Design Studio)_ , examining the spray of flowers Nico had given her earlier that day, trying to figure out just _how_ to write down her thoughts, in a way that someone highly tempestuous and violence-driven would understand.

 _Can we talk?_ Rani frowned. _Too desperate._ She crossed it out.

 _I need answers._ Rani sucked on the top of the red-inked ballpoint pen for a moment. _Too direct._

 _I know what you did two weeks ago._ She immediately nixed that type of language—it reminded her of a 1990s horror movie, and that wasn’t the vibe she was going for, in attempting to glean answers about her great-aunt’s death, especially from an ex-girlfriend.

 _We need to talk -R2._ Perfect. Rani scribbled those words down using her red ink pen on a small-but-fresh piece of watercolor paper; she plucked a pristine rose the color of coconut milk from the center of her bouquet and affixed it to the piece of paper with a miniscule amount of clear plastic tape she found in a counter drawer. Rani tossed her pen in the air, as if to demonstrate satisfied, casual dexterity after an intense-but-successful bout of brainstorming and caught it, but not before dots of red ink issued forth from the pen and onto the petals below, giving the unnerving impression of drops of blood to anyone who were to come across it. Rani, in her fervor, failed to notice this at all, as she slipped the items bundled together through her mail chute just within the front door, whispering a few words she had learned a decade or so earlier from Celeste herself.


	19. R&N: Snow White & Rose Red

19: R&N: Snow White & Rose Red

_7 am, New York City Luxury Apartment_

_We need to talk -R2._ Coupled with a white rose that was speckled in what appeared to be fake blood. Abigael had wanted to go out for a brisk morning jog around Central Park, and nearly stepped on the items that lay before her feet. She looked past the dining room with its Ashford dining table, toward the direction of the bedroom she and Mel shared. _Mel, by all accounts, was still asleep_. Poking her head outside once more, Abigael glanced to her left and right, snatched the items, and locked the door behind her.

_7:10 am, New York City Luxury Apartment_

How could she forget Rani, with her unflappable personality, dark glasses, and thick, cropped platinum hair? Even if it had been upwards of a decade, Abigael could still recall distinct aspects of the way Rani would survey her walls, her marble interiors, and her bedsheets, claiming she could detect ten shades of what Abigael considered to be the color white.

Unusually for them both, they had parted amicably. Rani and she had led a quiet, secretive lifestyle back then, that had lasted the better part of six months. _But oh, those six months_ …Neither had been serious at all with the other—they had both come out of unpleasant personal situations before meeting one night, long ago at a holiday party of a mutual friend in London.

_11:11 pm, Ten Years Ago, London England, Holiday Party_

Abigael wasn’t sure why her flatmate Pippa had dragged her out to a friend’s to-do. She wasn’t the celebratory sort when it came to holidays, and she’d sooner be dead than caught in a horrid Christmas jumper. Unfortunately, Abigael had lost a bet with Pippa earlier that week over a round of drinks that meant attending said shindig, which she had dressed for, scowling all the while.

 _Red? Absolutely not_ , Abigael decided, tossing a sweater aside in her bedroom. She’d decided that all of the other color choices were just as hideous. She didn’t have many gowns at the time either, so she’d been forced to trek to the nearest thrift store, where she found a surprisingly chic white sweater dress that she could pair with tight black leggings. _Not bad,_ she thought, surveying herself in her bedroom mirror, after having returned from the shop.

And here she was, at said friend’s house, in a haze of postprandial hookah smoke and the permeating stench of ale. Abigael ducked out of the living room into what appeared to be a small, dimly lit library, closing the door behind her. Gravitating toward a darkened shelf, she noticed it contained every first edition of the feminist hero classics— _Jane Eyre, Persuasion, Little Women_ she read off, impressed, as she ran her fingers down the binding. So entranced was she that she didn’t notice the presence of another in the room, until their fingers touched the same first edition binding of the book entitled “ _Mrs. Dalloway.”_

Abigael had come face-to-face with a lovely almond-eyed woman with high, well-defined cheekbones and closely-cropped platinum hair, who was wearing a rather festive cherry-red merino wool sweater. “Oh, hullo,” the platinum-haired woman said in surprise. “I’m Rani, here on exchange. Y’are?”

“Abigael. Just— _Abigael._ ” Abigael swallowed hard and surveyed the sylph before her. _American_ , she guessed. _A rather lovely specimen, that_. _If only she were…_

“Single?” Rani asked boldly—interrupting Abigael’s silent thoughts abruptly.

“ _Quite,”_ answered Abigael in a low, purring voice, reaching out to stroke Rani’s bright tendrils as Rani closed her eyes and savored the curious poppy-and-cinnamon perfume Abigael had chosen to wear that very evening; they meandered their way into the darkest, unlit portion of the library, as they began to explore one another’s body.

Abigael planted a kiss on Rani’s neck, guiding Rani into the deepest part of the library’s corner, where the left and right walls intersected together. Their fingers intertwined on one side, they deliberately mulled over what to do next with the heady alcohol-infused tension permeating their surroundings. Soon, Rani’s tongue found itself within Abigael’s own, performing a sensual dance within, for the next several minutes. Rani gasped as Abigael’s right hand snaked under her sweater, _under her camisole, under her brassiere_ , until she could feel the petite and deft fingers stroking her breast, flicking her nipple in a way that made her involuntary thrust forward. Making silent eye contact, they slid to the floor and straddled each other, each placing in index finger into the other’s silky, tight fabric leggings, winding their way to the other’s feathery, flowery-scented folds. They gasped, and began rocking back and forth, stroking furiously and panting all the while.

The raucous party continued outside those very walls, and nobody took any notice of the two absconders. Abigael could feel Rani’s light dampness and looked down at her own semi-pantless self. Seeing a part of Rani within her own core further fueled the flames that flickered within her seductive nature. “ _Fuck”_ she heard Rani whisper. Abigael bit Rani’s shoulder as they moved faster, and _faster still_ , culminating in a perspiring, throbbing, undulating heap on the oaken library floor.

_7:15 am, New York City Luxury Apartment_

_Damn, she could remember that holiday party as if it were yesterday._ Abigael scrutinized the red-splattered rose and the card once more. _What prompted this communication?_ Typically, Rani would send flowers in secret to those she had a private vendetta against…

“What’s that?” Mel had crept up behind her, unnoticed.

“Nothing—just—,”Abigael tossed the items into the kitchen bin, deliberately avoiding Mel’s questioning look. “— _Junk mail_. Magical realm junk mail.”


	20. HM2V: The Dreamscape Dyad

20: HM2V: The Dreamscape Dyad

_11 pm, Four Weeks Later, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bedroom, Maya’s Bed_

All was still in the Azores condo, as the verdant plumeria-scented tropical breeze wafted through the cracked-open window; Maya had been tucked into her bed hours before, happily visualizing the half dozen large purple unicorn rainbow-sprinkled cupcakes she had baked with her Uncle Jordan and Aunt Maggie those many weeks ago. “How many sprinkles can I use?” she’d asked Jordan.

“As many as you want,” he and Maggie laughed, throwing each other a subtle look. _Daddy’s going to be upset,_ Maya mused to herself. _Don’t use too much sugar, Maya,_ he’d always admonish. _An apple a day keeps the doctor away._ Though surprisingly, he wasn’t peeved, scooping Maya in his arms and snuggling her, muttering something absent-mindedly of how mommy and daddy had _such_ a lovely time in Portugal ( _behind Maggie and Jordan’s knowing glances_ ), and how he was going to teach his darling little girl how to make clotted cream and scones one day when she was older. Maya had already had half of one of the cupcakes (Aunt Maggie had the other half, and Uncle Jordan had eaten a _whole_ one).

There were four remaining cupcakes buried in the freezer of the condo’s kitchen. Harry refused a bite, politely mentioning something about added sugars and artificial coloring, and Macy, having seen Maya’s crestfallen expression, quickly interjected, saying that she would try a cupcake soon enough in the weeks to come, after the cupcakes had spent some time solidifying in the freezer, to avoid any mess.

_11:05 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bedroom, King Bed_

On the king-sized bed, Harry slept, intimately snuggled against his wife in a spooning sort of position, his head positively buried in her nest of curly hair. However, Macy’s slumber was an odd and at times, fitful one.

_Down the dark tunnel she went, through the ancient door, entering the manor garden, full of exotic fruits and vegetables, flora and fauna. Examining one ladybug on a palm leaf, she noticed its twin following closely alongside it. A peach-grapefruit-hued snapdragon flower towered over her, an identical one by its side, though its petals, upon closer examination, had some subtle differences. But they were, no doubt, of the same origin, the same parentage, the same plant genetic structure, wherever they had originated._

_Drifting away from the tall snapdragon blossoms, she noticed a blackberry bush. Knowing that the berries would typically be interspersed and clustered toward the sunniest branches the light could reach, she was surprised to find clusters—two shining, glossy, freshly-ripened blackberries per cluster—dotted evenly at the bottom-most branches of the bush, to the mid-section where bloomed even more, tapering off at the top of the bush. Macy was beginning to sense a sort of pattern within this arid garden of hers._

_The coconut tree overhead gently swayed, and a perfectly joined pair of coconuts flew from the palm branches and landed with a_ thump _at Macy’s feet. She picked the still-intact bundle up gently, noticing how the sunlight reflected off the surprisingly fuzz-soft, velvety hair, as she tried to figure out where to place the two. She couldn’t very well climb atop the sprawling over twenty-foot-tall tree, and she wasn’t about to keep them laying on the ground. They smelled familiar, like the Azores itself—cinnamon and cloves and cardamom enveloped her senses. Where did they belong?_

_She found herself delving further into the dreamscape that was Vera Manor Garden and found herself at a white wrought-iron picnic table, with two cushioned adult-sized chairs and three little chairs. Macy placed the coconuts down in the center of the picnic table, then walked around the smaller three chairs, attempting to orient herself all the while. Looking closely, she observed that one was larger than the other two, which were identical in size. Perhaps the larger child’s chair was for Maya?_

_At that very moment, Macy looked around; this time, there was no Harry, no Maya, no—she hesitated—_ other _children, whoever they were. She missed them, those two curly-haired, grey-eyed babies she recalled from earlier, wondering where they had disappeared to, having escaped her subconscious renderings as of late. Had they taken root—gone off elsewhere in search of a home—and found an alternate residence elsewhere in this dreamscape world? When she had first laid eyes on the twins with Harry and Maya in her earlier dream in which they were behind the she-shed, she had felt surprised and overwhelmed at the thought of so many children in one place. Now, she simply yearned for their presence; her arms ached without them._

Macy sat up in bed, gasping for air; it was the fifth time this week she had awakened from the very same recurring dream.

_3 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Kitchen_

Macy sat across the kitchen table from Harry and Maya, while Harry quickly compiled the weekly grocery list. Macy had handed him a slip of paper, which he took. Before he made to orb back to Vera Manor and meet Jordan per routine, she stopped him. “Could you add blackberries to the list? I could really use some.” Puzzled, Harry jotted it down with the pen he always kept with him, tucking the note in his front blazer pocket.

_8 am PDT, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

“Ready, Jordan?” Harry asked. Jordan nodded, as they linked elbows and orbed away from Vera Manor.

_8:15 am, Organic Grocery Store, Produce Section_

Jordan and Harry paused to review their respective lists. Jordan’s predictably read as follows: _tampons_ (Maggie _), peppermint tea, almond-encrusted dark chocolate bark, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream_. Harry did a once-over, then perused his own list, which was the following: _fresh blackberries, 2 jars of pickles_ (the unsliced kind), _pre-sliced watermelon, peppermint tea, 3 bags of ginger chews, 1 bag of gingersnaps, fresh pre-sliced coconut…_

… _And a pregnancy test_ , Harry thought to himself, making a discreet beeline for the drugstore products aisle.


	21. HM2V: Garden, Bursting into Life

21: HM2V: Garden, Bursting into Life

_8:15 am, Organic Grocery Store, Produce Section_

Jordan and Harry paused to review their respective lists. Jordan’s predictably read as follows: _tampons_ (Maggie _), peppermint tea, almond-encrusted dark chocolate bark, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream_. Harry did a once-over, then perused his own list, which was the following: _fresh blackberries, 2 jars of pickles_ (the unsliced kind), _pre-sliced watermelon, peppermint tea, 3 bags of ginger chews, 1 bag of gingersnaps, fresh pre-sliced coconut…_

… _And a pregnancy test_ , Harry thought to himself, making a discreet beeline for the drugstore products aisle.

_8:15 am/3:15 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Front Garden_

The heat was beginning to wane a bit, so Macy took an opportunity to spruce up the front garden. Granted, it wasn’t _quite_ on the scale of Vera Manor Garden, but it was a plot of land, and it was hers. She gathered the seeds and sprouts she had obtained from Matias earlier that week (cilantro, aloe vera, basil, chilis, zucchini, _oh my_ ), and drew forth a bucket containing a couple pairs of gardening gloves, a spade, and potting soil, as Maya dutifully followed her out to the front lawn.

Kneeling, Macy dug a three-inch-deep well with her spade and carefully dropped one of the chili seeds in, covering the seed with the remaining dirt. Maya watched silently, and after a few more chili seeds were planted, she wanted to have a try too. The general plan was to create something akin to the victory gardens of yore, except with a uniquely tropical twist. The chili contained capsaicin, which would hopefully deter various woodland creatures ( _if there were any on the island_ , thought Macy), from feasting on the greenery once they began budding weeks from then.

The sprouts soon followed—first, a line of cilantro, then a line of basil. The zucchini came next, though as Maya and Macy each dropped the tiny, shriveled seeds in, Macy privately thought to herself it would take a miracle for this gourd-like specimen to thrive. She hadn’t seen many large zucchinis in the market as of late and thought it would have been a waste to plant it in the first place, had Matias not suggested otherwise. _Fried zucchini fritters for lunch, and chocolate chip zucchini bread for dessert? Tantalizing…_

The aloe vera sprouts were firmly planted by Macy and Maya both, at the furthest end of the garden plot; this was meant to provide a naturally spiny, prickly barrier against plant pests. _Hopefully, with water, ample sunlight, and a bit of luck, the garden would flourish_ , Macy thought to herself. Her horticultural daydreaming was momentarily interrupted by Morgana, who had noticed the pair and decided to walk over for a quick chat.

_3:25 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Front Garden_

“Growing a garden, I see?” Morgana politely inquired, her voice still holding a barely perceptible Portuguese accent.

“Afternoon Morgana, sort of—just sprucing up the front yard—” Macy began, straightening up to a standing position.

“Ah, _lovely_ ,” Morgana clasped her hands together excitedly. “It’s simply been _ages_ since anyone’s done anything with it—I keep bugging Matias to add more cassava to _his_ , but you know him…” her voice suddenly trailed off as she peered closer into Macy’s eyes. “You look… _different_. Is there anything I should know?” Morgana half-whispered.

Macy looked puzzled. “No…not that I’m aware. And different in what sense?”

“Well…” Morgana hesitated. “There’s something about your eyes, as if you’ve seen something of the future, something of the soul. And there seems to be two, this time around.” She paused in wonderment. “Oh _my…_ ” Just then, Maya gently tapped Morgana, seeking her attention in the here and now.

“We’re growing chili and cilantro and basil and aloe vera and zucchini,” Maya announced, reaching for Morgana’s hand. She led the older lady around the rows of seeds and sprouts, pointing to what plant or sprout went where.

_3:45 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Kitchen_

After Morgana had taken her leave, Macy brought Maya back inside, along with all of their gardening gear. They had both rinsed their hands of any remaining dirt, and entered back into the condo, where Harry awaited them, his wares in hand. Macy and Maya hugged him, then Macy put Maya down for a nap; the little girl was soon fast asleep.

“Did you get the blackberries?” Macy inquired. Harry fished the pint-sized bushel container out of one bag, which she rinsed and dabbed dry, popping a berry into her mouth. “ _Yum.”_ He unloaded the rest, placing various items in the fridge. The ginger chews and ginger snaps remained on the kitchen table.

“Is there a reason you wanted ginger snaps and ginger chews, Macy?” Harry regarded his wife carefully.

“No—no reason—I was thinking up a snack that would go well with afternoon Earl Grey tea and ginger snaps sprung to mind. The ginger chews, well, why _wouldn’t_ someone buy ginger-flavored candy from the grocery store? There’s a sale going on, so I’ve heard,” Macy retorted, her eyes widening as she saw the last item Harry pulled out of the remaining grocery bag.

_A pregnancy test. Oh NO he didn’t._

Without so much as a word, Harry seized Macy’s hand and they orbed into the master bathroom, closing the door behind them.

_3:49 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

“Why do people keep implying I’m pregnant?” Macy shrieked indignantly as she awaited the test’s results with a much-bemused Harry, who was alternating between checking his stopwatch and regarding her curls flying all about in this tempestuous tirade of hers. “It’s _all_ they ever talk about—first Hestia, now _Morgana!_ I thought Morgana at least would have more tact. Here she is, telling me about “two souls” this and that, and telling me she might stop by Vera Manor in a couple of weeks. _As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate._ ”

“Macy, I really think you should calm down—” Harry ventured, but Macy cut him off.

“They shouldn’t be saying this stuff, imagine if we had fertility issues—it would cut like a knife! For all _we_ know, I very well could—”

“Um. Macy,” Harry remarked in a low voice. “I don’t think you need to worry about any…err… _fertility issues._ ” 

Macy paused in her tracks. “Why would you say that?”

Harry held up the stick. It showed a bright, unmistakable “+” plus sign. “I hope you’re ready for round two,” he whispered, gathering Macy in his arms as they both began tearing up.


	22. HM2V: S is for Sonogram

22: HM2V: S is for Sonogram

_3:49 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

Harry held up the stick. It showed a bright, unmistakable “+” plus sign. “I hope you’re ready for round two,” he whispered, gathering Macy in his arms as they both began tearing up.

_9 am, Two Weeks Later, She-Shed, Vera Manor Garden_

“Mommy?” Macy, thoroughly exhausted, could feel the tiny fingers of her little girl gently poking her shoulder as she napped on the cot. “Mommy, are you sick?”

“Sweetie, come downstairs and go spend time with Aunt Maggie before she goes to work. She has some arts and crafts activities for you to try, ok?” Harry gently ushered Maya down from the second floor of the she-shed and back over to Vera Manor. Ten minutes later, he returned, carrying up a small tray, on which sat atop a glass of lemon-garnished ginger sparkling water and two gingersnaps; he laid it down on the floor beside the cot, sympathetically watching his wife suffer through the misery that was 1st trimester pregnancy.

Half an hour ago, Macy was supposed to have gotten a head start on drafting a journal article for future publication covering the Greek mythological figure Hypnos, the god of sleep. Five sentences in and one internet perusal later, she fell sound asleep on her keyboard and had been quickly orbed to the second floor by Harry, who insisted she rest on the cot. All she had eaten earlier that day were a couple of ginger chews and half a saltine cracker slathered in crunchy peanut butter.

For whatever reason, her symptoms had begun quite early. If she had timed things correctly, she was likely only six weeks along. _Why then,_ Macy thought to herself _, did she feel as though she’d been hit by a Mack truck?_ Two weeks ago, she felt perfectly healthy, able to go about and plant sprouts in the Epicenter Pico garden without a care in the world. And now, she was too tired to lift her head or even open her eyes let alone _breathe_ , and she could have sworn that her side profile from earlier that week showed a slight plum-sized bump, which was _definitely_ indicative of the beginnings of the second trimester—not the first. If Macy had been just a trifle more alert, she would have known something was different about this particular pregnancy…

“Can you eat a little Macy?” Harry broke one of the gingersnaps in two and offered her a piece. “ _Please,_ love?” She shook her head, her eyes still closed. _Vertigo and fatigue, the likes of which she’d never experienced before, even with Maya years ago._ Truth be told, if someone told her right then and there to close her eyes for the next three months, she would have gladly taken them up on the offer. _And paid them._

_11 am, Vera Manor, Living Room_

“Ah, _Harry!_ ” Morgana appeared in the Vera Manor living room, extending her hand, which Harry shook. “I arrived as soon as I could— _where is she?_ ” Harry stepped back, revealing Macy, asleep on the velveteen sofa.

“I know it’s not yet seven weeks, but she refuses to eat and fell asleep at her desk, honestly, I’m really _quite_ concerned—even Maya knows something’s up, and she’s only three. It doesn’t seem _nearly_ the same this time around—” Harry whispered in a low voice.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Macy’s voice rang out and both Harry and Morgana gave a start.

“Macy, love, I called Morgana—you’re clearly unwell, and we need to sort this out—” Harry began.

“ _Jeez,_ Harry, I’m pregnant not broken!” Macy breathed, her eyes still tightly closed. “It’s 1st trimester, it’s normal to be tired and crappy—”

“For _fifteen hours a day_?” Harry asked quietly. “This isn’t like you, Macy, pregnant or not.” Turning to Morgana, he paused for a moment. “Morgana, can you run tests to ensure my wife has adequate iron levels? Potassium levels?”

“Will do, Harry, just let me get on with my equipment first— _hold your horses_ ,” she laughed, while Harry wore a look of fear and impatience on his face. “Why so panicked? You have nine months to prepare anyhow,” Morgana muttered something under her breath, _millennials these days_ ; she pulled out her portable sonogram machine from her large floral-printed handbag. Turning on the device, Morgana dipped the ultrasound wand into the gel, rubbing it all over Macy’s lower belly. Suddenly, a rapid thump-thump-thump-thump-thump could be heard, except that for whatever reason, the pulses sounded incredibly rapid and far closer together than Macy and Harry remembered the first time around.

“The heartbeat?” Macy asked, as Harry held her hand tightly, staring at Morgana.

“Well…” Morgana scrutinized the sonogram image, moving the wand across Macy’s abdomen. “I believe I know why Macy’s got slightly lower iron and potassium levels than normal.”

 _Oh no,_ Macy thought to herself. _I should have started taking those prenatal vitamins a full year and a half in advance! What if—what if something were to have happened with the baby? What if something wasn’t right? What if something’s wrong with…me?_ “Is there something we need to know about the baby, Morgana?” Macy’s voice cracked with anxiety. 

“First of all,” Morgana turned the sonogram image toward Macy and Harry. “It’s _two_ babies.”

_11:15 am, Vera Manor, Living Room_

“T-two?” Macy whispered.

“Yes, _two_.” Morgana waved her hand over Macy’s mid-section, waiting as if she were obtaining specialized calculations of a sort. “And your iron and potassium levels are somewhat low, so I’d recommend you take various over-the-counter pregnancy digestive tummy soothers, then try a banana smoothie, or frozen two-ingredient banana peanut butter ice cream. Quite easy to make at home, and popular with the neighbor’s children too.” Morgana looked at Harry pointedly, as if to say, _that’s your job._ Harry understood. She switched off the machine and wiped off the gel with a disposable paper towel, which she tossed in a nearby trashcan.

“The babies’ heartbeats are both robust, that’s for sure,” added Morgana. “I’ll be back next month—get as much rest as you possibly can—well, as much as you can realistically have with a toddler around,” she chuckled, then vanished.


	23. HM2V: Cupcakes for Breakfast

23: HM2V: Cupcakes for Breakfast

_11:25 am, Vera Manor, Living Room_

Macy opened her eyes once more, but quickly regretted it, as the room began spinning around her. She shut them tightly, wishing with all her might that she could survive the next days, weeks, and months to come. She would have expressed surprise at the presence of two within her ( _two babies!)_ , but she was far too faint, half-starved, and miserable to fully comprehend anything at this point.

“ _There are two of them_ ,” she whispered to Harry, who put a finger to his lips.

“Let’s talk more once you’re better, love,” he answered, and Macy acquiesced, too ill and tired to disagree.

_9 pm, One Week Later, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Seven weeks pregnant. _And yet,_ thought Macy, _it felt like a goddamn eternity._ Thank goodness Harry had gone to Faial Market earlier that morning to pick up what she called “baby bananas”—those sweet, four-inch pieces of miniature fruit. Easy to digest, they had been making up the mainstay of her diet as of late. That, and ginger sparkling water, ginger chews, ginger snaps, and crunchy peanut butter on dry crackers, with the odd over-the-counter prenatal tummy soother ( _Unisom and Vitamin B-6 tablets worked decently well_ , _she found_ ).

Slowly but surely, Macy was back to her optimal self. Not _normal_ , per se _. Normal_ implied she woke up every day at 7 am, typed up journal articles, ate a hearty breakfast, lunch, and dinner, played with Maya, then stayed up late with Harry watching movies on Netflix. _Optimal_ meant waking up at 9 am, sipping on ginger sparkling water for the better half of the morning, and drinking a banana fruit smoothie at noon ( _if she could stomach it_ ). _Optimal_ also invoked an hourlong nap after a couple of hours typing up journal articles, a protein-rich snack instead of a full meal at dinnertime, and being lulled to sleep on the couch by various songs and podcasts Harry had loaded onto her phone, while Harry read Maya bedtime stories. _She felt a stab of guilt as she saw them together through the open door, but it would have to do for now._

_7 am, One Week and Five Days Later, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Matias, Harry, and Maya were headed to the beach to begin surfing lessons. Matias planned to teach the little girl about water safety and had a child-sized surfboard for her to stand on. Ever-cautious, Harry planned to wade into the two-foot-deep water to assist, just in case an ill-timed gale should ever arise. This was not likely, but Harry didn’t want to “tempt the gods,” or so the saying goes. They talked in low voices in the entryway as not to disturb Macy, who was likely still in bed fast asleep. Making as if to depart, surfboard and picnic in hand, they heard the creak of the master bedroom door.

“Can I come too?” Macy asked softly. Her curly hair was tied in a high ponytail, and she wore a one-piece swimsuit with a long, gauzy white Caftan-style swimwear dress over it. Harry glanced at her with an enigmatic expression as she gave a pleading look.

“Are you sure, love?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Macy said with certainty. “I think—I think I’m starting to feel more…” she searched for the word, “… _human_ these days.” Maya excitedly jumped up and down and ran to grab ahold of her mother’s hand, pulling her toward the front door.

“Careful, Maya,” Harry regarded the pair. “Mummy’s felt a bit out of sorts, let’s take things easy on her, shall we?” Maya solemnly nodded her head up and down, but then did a silent fist-pump in the air that garnered the cheery approval of all present.

_7:30 am, Praínha, Azores, Canto da Areia Beach_

“A penny for your thoughts, love,” remarked Harry, sitting next to Macy, who was cross-legged on a beach towel. He had spent the past ten minutes several feet away in the sand, where Matias was teaching Maya to stand on the surfboard. “I think she’s getting the hang of things so far,” he said, stroking Macy’s curly hair gently. “Matias is a good teacher.”

Macy continued to observe Maya’s balancing attempts with a pensive expression on her face, without saying a word. “Darling, are you alright? It’s ok if you want to leave—” Harry began.

“No, it’s not that,” Macy replied, hearing Maya’s chirpy giggles and Matias’ booming peals of laughter as the little girl flopped onto the soft granules of sand, pretending to be a baby seal. She stared past the 50 meter stretch of tranquil beach, empty save for two other surfers and a would-be snorkeler, toward the ocean and the adjoining island’s distant hillside, a smoky turquoise-teal color due to its tropical forestry. “It’s the feeling of…loss.”

“ _Loss?_ ” Harry asked, genuinely puzzled. “In what way, might I ask?” He bent forward to stroke Macy’s belly gently, afraid of what Macy would say next.

“No, not _that_ type of loss,” Macy replied quickly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to add to our family,” she said in response to Harry’s questioning look. “It’s just—it’s just that—I’m mourning the loss of moments like _these._ ” She gestured toward Matias and Maya, and then to herself and Harry. “We’re going to have _two_ babies _. Two_ newborns _._ In diapers. Crying at _all_ hours of the night. Maya won’t get our undivided attention anymore, and I worry about her—I worry whether I’m doing this right—could I really be a good mother? To _three_ children? We’re literally going to be outnumbered!” Macy exclaimed, knowing that it was partially her hormones that were causing her nervousness about the whole situation.

_7:50 am, Praínha, Azores, Canto da Areia Beach_

“Macy, _love_.” Harry lifted Macy’s chin up, a gesture she knew only too well. “You do realize that we’re not entirely alone, right? We have Morgana, a superb obstetrician and neighborhood babysitter, your cousin Matias to serve as grandfather, and Maggie and Jordan enjoy watching Maya during the weekend.” Macy could feel a tear escape, trickling down her cheek; Harry gently wiped it away, kissing the part of her visage on which it had fallen. “ _Love_ , the universe has given us countless signs we were having twins, too many to ignore—your dreams that merge Azorean paradise with the domesticity of Vera Manor, for instance. As if the spiritual realm were trying to prepare us, mentally and emotionally, while also telling us, perhaps, we would make excellent parents to them both.”

Macy nodded slowly. _Somehow, it was all beginning to make sense._ Hestia’s reference to three young children, Morgana’s detection of twin spirits, and her symptoms, as if her children blooming within her wanted her to know “ _we’re here!_ ” these past several weeks.

“Also,” remarked Harry. “There’ll be more love to go around, more fun birthday celebrations, and Maya will have two little siblings to play with, and they’ll be the _best_ of friends someday.” Macy smiled, wiping a stray tear from her other cheek. “Care for a cupcake?” Harry pulled a purple-frosted unicorn cupcake from the picnic basket.

Macy giggled. “Number one: I thought you hated artificial coloring. Two: It’s not even eight in the morning.”

“I added a few miniature fruit platters to compensate,” Harry answered. “Plus we’re on holiday, a bite of cupcake once in a while couldn’t hurt.” He then whispered in Macy’s ear, “I tossed the cupcakes from the freezer and used a duplication charm with alternate ingredients—entirely dairy-free, gluten free, and low glycemic—with almond flour and nut milk, plus crushed blueberries for the all-natural purple dye.”

“Oh, Mr. Valensi, you _do_ spoil me so,” Macy murmured, tentatively licking a piece of frosting.


	24. R&N: Tory, or Victoria

24: R&N: Tory, or Victoria

_7 am, New York Luxury Apartment_

It was finally Saturday, and Mel, for once, felt like venturing outside to Central Park for a morning walk before the scorching urban heat of summer took hold. It would be another three hours before Abigael returned from her latest adventure, rescuing albino tiger cubs in the Czech Republic from an unscrupulous gargoyle situated atop the South Moravian Lednice Palace. _Enough time to visit Balto_ , she decided.

_7:10 am, Manhattan City Corners_

Mel ambled past the Tory Burch storefront, pausing for a moment to examine the stylish plum-colored dress worn by the mannequin on display, and its long, clunky silver-and-onyx-studded chain that served as part of the dressy ensemble. Her current line of work at a local female-led publishing company required a casual chic dress code ( _whatever on earth that meant_ ) and she was forever finding herself stopping in front of store windows to size up the merchandise. The pay was decent, but the hours were quite long. She admired the storefront’s frosted paisley glasswork, then proceeded the rest of the way to the park.

_7:20 am, Central Park, Balto Statue_

She always forgot just how large the bronze statue was; Mel recognized the familiar lolling tongue from a considerable distance away, its carved, observant eyes alert and cheerful, its ears at attention. She always liked to pass by the figure whenever she had a free morning—somehow, the story of this dog ferrying life-saving medicine to children made her less anxious about her day-to-day routines, her frenetic schedules, and oddly enough, put things into perspective. That no matter how difficult life could be, whether you were at death’s door or whatnot, everything would, somehow or other, work itself out.

She noticed a few exhausted fathers and their preschool-aged children approach the statue, disposable paper coffee containers in hand. _Is this what being a parent is like?_ Mel wondered to herself, watching two of the young children pose to the left of Balto. It seemed as though they were giving their partners and spouses a break, letting them sleep in just awhile longer while the kids ran around the park to exercise the pent-up energy they had.

Mel recalled the conversation she’d had with her partner the night before. Abigael had left her phone on the Ashford table, proceeding to the oven to check on the chili stew-stuffed baked potatoes. Curious, Mel glanced over to what Abigael had been reading for the past few minutes. _Several tabs were open; how interesting,_ Mel thought, given Abigael’s typical one-track mind. The first tab was set to a search tab, with the typed-in question: “ _Can an unmarried lesbian couple legally adopt?”_ The answer, according to the information generated, was a resounding “ _yes.”_ Intrigued, Mel read the second and third tabs, which held search terms “ _New York Foundling”_ and “ _adoption_ ” respectively. The fourth tab had the search phrase “ _what happens if I can’t obtain a single character reference”_ and the fifth tab began with “ _nobody trusts me around their children—”_

 _“Ahem—”_ Mel whirled around to face a red-aproned Abigael, large barbecue pitchfork in hand from testing the baked potatoes from the oven. “Invasion of privacy, much?”

“Oh—” stammered Mel. “I was—I just— _I mean—”_ She took a deep breath and spoke once more. “I just saw something pop up on your screen, and…well…yeah. I guess we can adopt if we really want to, but why didn’t you tell me you were interested?”

“I thought I’d research on my own, see the lay of the land, I suppose,” responded Abigael in her familiar British drawl. “Unfortunately, I doubt anyone would let me near a child, given the strict requirements.”

“Like what?” Mel asked, genuinely curious.

“Home inspections—I have an arsenal ( _a secured one, I suppose)_ of weaponized jewelry. It would be an attractive nuisance to a little girl, who could one day decide she wanted to wear mummy’s pearls—” Abigael began.

“We’d just be firm and state they were weapons though, wouldn’t we?” Mel responded.

“But what if she went to school the next day, and told all her friends that mum had a set of pearl earrings that could inflict disease?” Abigael began pacing across the Siberian oak entryway, nervously biting a stray hangnail. “All the social workers would descend, and the magical realm could be exposed!”

“… _Or,_ ” posited Mel, trying not to smile, “her teacher would chalk it up to an overactive imagination? Or maybe we would homeschool the child, or send the child to a magical school? Really, I think we’re overthinking things. We haven’t even started reaching out to the Foundling Agency yet.”

“I’ve seen their website, Mel, and it has two women on its leadership who share the last names of a couple of late Elders. That _can’t_ be a coincidence. And _character references?_ Everyone I’ve interacted with in the past year in my line of work has ended up turned to stone, imprisoned, or dead,” Abigael’s voice was rising higher and higher.

 _She certainly wasn’t wrong about the last bit,_ thought Mel. _The odds of someone in the state of New York letting Abigael near a child was just as likely as a unicorn and a hammerhead shark going for a pleasant frolic in the local aquarium._ Then an idea struck her, and she placed her hands on Abigael’s shoulders, halting her pacing. “What if we had our _own_ child?”

Abigael laughed sardonically. “That’s not biologically possible…”

“—According to this article,” Mel pulled her own phone from her pocket and googled for a minute, before pulling up the website, “the first three-parent embryo successfully led to the birth of a baby, four years ago.” Abigael snatched the phone out of Mel’s hands, skimming the article to the very end.

“It’s probably too costly— _oh_ , and it’s not approved for use in America,” Abigael stated. Just then, she began sniffing the air. _Bollocks, the potatoes. How could she have forgotten?_ She rushed over to the kitchen and opened the oven door, coughing and fanning away the billowing clouds of smoke.

“Do you want to order takeout?” Mel gently laid a hand on Abigael’s shoulder. She nodded quietly as Mel kissed her on the cheek.

_7:30 am, Central Park, Balto Statue_

Mel was jolted out of her thoughts when she felt a small hand clasp hers. “ _Mum?”_

Startled, she turned her gaze downward toward a small girl, no older than five, whose hair was neatly braided with fancy marble stone-like barrettes. _The color and pattern seemed oddly familiar._

“ _Mummy,”_ the girl tugged on Mel’s hand again. “It’s _Tory,_ remember?” Mel shook her head, wishing with all her heart this child was her own. _Funny_ , thought Mel, _the girl has Abigael’s eyes_. _And_ my _olive skin tone. How is this possible? This can’t be—right? Earth to Mel, earth to Mel. Children do not drop out of the sky. It’s probably some cute lost kid whose dad walked away to check the latest Giants score._

“No, sweetie, I’m not your Mommy,” Mel said wistfully, as the little girl let go of her hand and ran away, turning back once, with mischievous, impish eyes, as if she had a secret to behold, then vanished into thin air, to Mel’s utter shock and amazement.


	25. R&N: A Magical Metaphorical Conception

25: R&N: A Magical Metaphorical Conception

_7:35 am, Central Park, Balto Statue_

Mel gaped at where the little girl had once stood, then looked around. Nobody seemed to be paying the slightest attention, but then again, this was _New York_. Nothing was truly out of the ordinary in a city like this. As if on impulse, she dug her phone out of her pocket and typed the name “Tory” and “girl name meaning” into her search engine.

“ _Tory”_ her screen read. “ _Middle Irish origins; modern Scottish Gaelic: “outlaw or brigand” or “pursuit,” derived from the Latin-rooted name “Victoria,” meaning “victory_.” _Talk about serendipity…_

Considering she herself had strong mystical origins and Abigael was a hellacious rebel, the name Tory seemed particularly appropriate, should they choose to adopt a little girl…

_10:35 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Bathroom_

Mel silently handed Abigael the gauze and antibacterial ointment, which the latter used for her arms, now covered in tiny claw marks and the occasional baby tiger bite.

“Here, let me—” Mel dabbed a bit more ointment on one of the nastier bits, as Abigael winced. “ _There._ All set.”

“Thanks, love,” Abigael murmured, drawing Mel closer for a kiss, as their eyes closed, their tongues tentatively exploring each others’ mouths.

Just then, Mel remembered the child. “Abigael—while you were gone—something weird happened…”

“ _Hmmm?”_ Abigael continued to kiss the sensitive part behind Mel’s ear.

“I went to Central Park—I met a girl—”

Abigael paused and stared at Mel. “No, not _that_ type of situation,” Mel was quick to clarify. She swallowed hard. “I mean, I was near the Balto statue, and a little girl took my hand and called me her “mummy” and she had your eyes…”

“Darling, plenty of British ex-pats settle in the cosmopolitan mecca that is Manhattan,” Mel swore Abigael had rolled her eyes.

“But do they wear impeccable hair barrettes that match your Ashford color scheme? Or vanish into thin air before your very eyes?”

Abigael pondered Mel’s question for a long moment, before finally replying. “Knowing it’s _you_ who observed the child, it is _rather_ unusual, I daresay…”

“What do you think it means?” Mel surveyed Abigael’s face, trying to gauge a response.

“I think it means…our daughter may have found us.”

_9:45 pm, One Month Later, New York Luxury Apartment_

They had scoured all the nearby foster care agencies in the tri-state area for a little five-year-old girl named Tory, or Victoria, with no luck so far. Some of the social workers Mel had talked to were only familiar with newborns, others only placed primary school-aged boys, and still others focused on relocating teenagers. And of the small number of agencies that _did_ specialize in preschool or kindergarten-aged girls, there was nobody by the name of Tory or Victoria, nor of the ambiguous ethnicity that Mel described.

_10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“Do you think our baby’s really out there?” Mel whispered to Abigael, as they slowly began to undress in the dark, getting ready for bed.

Abigael thought for a moment while she unclasped her dainty stud earrings. “Perhaps she hasn’t been conceived by her biological parents yet…Or maybe whoever she’s with doesn’t know to unite us with her…Better yet, _maybe_ …” she glanced at Mel through the corner of her eye. “Maybe _we_ need to create _her._ ”

“As in, a _magical conception_ scenario?” Mel had never heard of such an idea. High school health class had taught her ‘guy meets girl, guy sleeps with girl, sperm meets egg, baby pops out.’ _What if she had it all wrong?_ Mel thought to herself, as she unhooked her bra while keeping her camisole on, a trick she’d learned as a teenager.

“Metaphorically speaking, of course,” said Abigael, shedding her own eggshell-colored slacks as she put on her maroon-colored silk pajama shorts. “Our act would send a message to the universe that we want a child, the natural result of our love and passion for each other. Perhaps we have a better chance of being heard—of being understood, that way.”

“Interesting hypothesis,” murmured Mel, who mulled it over for a few more seconds, then walked a few steps toward Abigael, unbuttoning the back of her partner’s dark emerald blouse while kissing the area behind Abigael’s neck. “So…what do we do?” To her surprise, Abigael disentangled herself from Mel and went to her nightstand drawer, pulling out a smooth, cylindrical, eight-inch piece of what looked to be rose quartz, one or one-and-a-half inches in diameter. Mel looked at it quizzically, admiring the smooth gemstone hues. “Is _that—is that a…”_

“Dildo?” Abigael completed the sentence. “Yes, a magical one. I found it in my safe earlier this week, and given the turn of events, I figured anything was worth a try.”

“So… _that—_ ” Mel pointed at the quartz, “goes… _up…here?_ ” Her voice squeaked up a notch, anxious of all that would possibly entail. “Oh _my,_ ” she whispered.

“ _Relax,_ Vera,” Abigael replied. “I still need to clean it.” And so she did with a nearby disposable disinfectant cloth, rubbing her fingers all over the glossy stone, touching the tip, and making her way downward. She completed her task within minutes, and somehow, they both tumbled onto the soft, cozy bed.

Mel removed Abigael’s blouse completely, exposing her porcelain skin in the moonlight streaming forth from the uncovered corner of the nearby floor-to-ceiling window. “ _You’re so beautiful, my wild iris,”_ Mel murmured, as she cupped Abigael’s breasts, sucking one nipple, flicking her tongue between its nub, then the other breast in turn, as Abigael moaned softly and clawed her back ever-so-tenuously.

“ _Beautiful_ and _dangerous,”_ Abigael whispered in Mel’s ear. As their fervent kisses began, and grew in their intensity, Abigael removed Mel’s camisole, reciprocating Mel’s earlier acts; soon, they were down to their underwear. Mel noticed that Abigael’s was a lacy black silk type, whose very fabric felt like the dewy softness of Abigael’s own skin, as she hurriedly removed her own, watching as Abigael grasped the length of the rose quartz rod beneath her nimble fingers. “Ask me _where_ I’m putting this, Vera,” Abigael murmured, placing the tip of the stone in between Mel’s lips to taste.

Mel gasped aloud as Abigael moved to straddle her from atop; the stone was ice cold to her warm tongue, causing Mel to shiver involuntarily with pleasure. She licked the tip, noticing Abigael’s purrs in the background. “And just _where_ are you placing _that_?” Mel gazed upward at Abigael, who continued to hold the dildo in her hand.

“Inside of _you_ ,” she replied. “Ask me _why_ , Vera,” Abigael ordered.

“Well, _Jameson-Caine_ , why _are_ you putting that _thing_ in me?” Mel could feel her heart beat faster in anticipation; she could feel herself grow moist.

Abigael, still straddling Mel, whispered in her ear, “ _to impregnate you,”_ as she slapped Mel’s naked thigh, causing Mel to moan loudly.

“ _Fuck,”_ whispered Mel.

“ _Did I detect foul language, Vera?_ ” Abigael smirked, bending down to kiss the most sensitive part of Mel’s neck; Mel whimpered in response. “ _What do you want, love?”_

 _“I—I want—”_ Mel softly muttered something only she could hear.

“What’s that? I couldn’t _quite_ hear you—” Abigael continued her lascivious renderings upon Mel, who, now involuntarily thrusting, was beginning to lose all semblance of propriety.

“ _I want you inside me,”_ Mel spoke, this time louder, while Abigael continued to tease her, this time rubbing the quartz over Mel’s nipples, down to her stomach, and toward her lower folds. “I _need_ you inside me _now,_ Abigael Jameson-Caine,” she all but yelled.

“ _Ok then,”_ Abigael breathed, thrusting the solid rod of quartz into Mel’s inner folds. _Mel gasped, feeling the strange newness of this foreign object enter her inner sanctum, as Abigael thrust into her slowly, becoming acquainted with her inner warmth. Abigael then increased her pace, moving, rotating and hitting different angles, causing Mel’s breath to hitch—thrusting faster, as Mel continued to jolt wildly, aimlessly, bucking her thighs, feeling the crux of her apex approaching—_

_“I’m going to—I’m about to—” Mel muttered, and Abigael thrust one last time, as Mel came, her core pulsating, her heart beating nearly out of her chest, her inner folds slick upon the quartz’s surface, sucking her breath in sharply as Abigael slid the dildo out. They cuddled together in the warmth of their afterglow._

“Is this how babies are made?” Mel whispered to Abigael, kissing a strand of her brunette locks.

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” Abigael sleepily murmured in response.


	26. R&N: Red Strikes Again

26: R&N: Red Strikes Again

_11 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

No response. Rani had patiently waited, as hours-long days turned into weeks, turned into a month. Soon, that turned into _three whole months_. She thought, given how close she and Abigael had been—even if it _had_ been a decade ago—that she would have had the decency to acknowledge the flower. _Read the abbreviated message and ponder its meaning._

 _I know what you did,_ Rani thought to herself. _I don’t know exactly what happened or whether you’re entirely at fault, but I deserve to know what happened._ She glanced up from where she sat at the rounded small kitchen table, plucking another flower from this week’s bouquet of glistening marble-and-pearl-colored peonies. Reaching for her red pen, she began to compose another message on the small piece of watercolor paper before her.

_7 am, New York City Luxury Apartment_

“Abigael, _what is this?_ ” Mel had stepped out of the high-ceilinged apartment for a burst of fresh air, only to be confronted with a white peony and a discreetly tucked envelope.

Abigael snatched the envelope from Mel’s grasp and tore it open, reading the message silently.

_I want answers. ~R2_

“ _She’s never going to let this go, is she?”_ Abigael muttered, half to herself. Mel placed the peony in an empty marmalade jar she found under the sink, and filled the jar with water, moving to place the item on the center of the Ashford table.

Mel then counted to ten slowly and turned around to face her partner. _“_ Abi, what the _fuck_ is going on here?”

_7:15 am, New York City Luxury Apartment, Bathroom_

_Holy shit-on-a-cracker._ Mel couldn’t believe it as she locked the bathroom door behind her, dropping to the floor to collect her thoughts. Abigael had, in her haste to dispel the Sarcana rebel, _neglected to peek beneath the hood._ It had been Celeste— _her,_ of all people. Probably under a Sarcana spell, due to Celeste’s recent failing mental faculties and tendency to imbibe more alcohol than was customary or wise. And of course, Celeste happened to have a great-niece named Rani Ri, who was _the_ most famous visionary in the design world (not to mention a _very_ attractive social media star in her own right, with her Instagram selfies of her snow-white hair and posts of pearly blossoms artistically arranged throughout hidden corners of the city, Banksy-style). _Not that Mel regularly stalked her page online. Of course not. Oh, who was she kidding…_

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Abigael had acted too impetuously for her own good. _Nor_ , thought Mel _, should it have been surprising that Rani was Abigael’s ex, even if the woman predated her by a full decade._ The woman, by all accounts, had a haughty visage that Mel could subtly detect in Abigael’s British demeanor, with her mysterious cropped hair, and appeared to have her act together in the working world, so to speak. _Point being,_ Mel thought to herself, _this Rani was far more beautiful, more successful, more popular, than she herself could ever be. What did Abigael ever see in herself, Mel Vera?_

_7:20 am, New York City Luxury Apartment, Bathroom_

There was a soft knock on the door; Mel raised her head, from where she was sitting, crouched in the corner in the fetal position.

“ _Mel? Are you ok?”_ Abigael’s familiar accent could be heard from the other side.

Mel nodded, somehow finding it hard to swallow. “Y-yes,” she whispered. “Just—processing. Everything _,”_ she added.

“Can you open the door so we can have a face-to-face discussion?” Abigael inquired softly.

“No _,_ ” answered Mel. “I-I still need time to think—about everything…”

“About… _us_?” whispered Abigael, desperately hoping that weren’t the case.

“About how you kept secrets like this from me—for over a month—how it _never_ once occurred to you to let me in,” Mel stated. “Why didn’t you tell me about Celeste earlier? Why didn’t you tell me about you and Rani?”

“Rani and I were nothing more than a decades-ago fling; we both came out of unpleasant relationships when we met at a holiday party. We lasted less than a year due to differing life paths and Rani’s student visa expiring. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since, though I heard through the grapevine she settled down in Brooklyn with her long-term partner.”

“What about Celeste?” Mel carefully thought over Abigael’s response regarding Rani, secretly glad that Rani was taken.

“I didn’t know about it being Celeste. _Honestly_ Mel, the first thought I had was that my sister-in-law was in a shack with a Sarcana about to attack—”

“ _She-shed,_ you mean—"

“Yes, _that;_ the Sarcana could have claimed two lives that day _and_ allowed other nefarious forces to invade Vera Manor. Even if Celeste weren’t in the right mind, the damage still would have been catastrophic for you and your family. I just couldn’t let that happen.”

Mel started, having heard one word in particular. _Sister-in-law_. _So Abigael saw us all as family, even without the bounds of marriage._ “Why do you want to protect my family, Abi? What’s in it for you?”

It was complete silence for several long minutes, before Abigael replied. “Nothing. Because they’re the family I’ve always envied. And Macy’s the mother to Maya I wish I had when _I_ was a child. And because—”

“ _Because?_ ” Mel prompted.

“—because they’re _your_ family, and I couldn’t bear to see you suffer, even the littlest bit. _I wanted to keep you safe_ ,” Abigael whispered. “ _I wanted you safe and happy_.”

The bathroom door unlocked and opened, as Mel exited and fell into Abigael’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Be with someone who wants to see you grow." -Toni Payne
> 
> From what I observed of Mel and Nico in S1 Charmed (2018), they both seemed the studious, dark-haired, serious type--almost *too* similar to each other. I paired Mel with Abigael because Mel is a smart person who is quick to judge, and Abigael is clever and witty, highly dangerous and thoroughly unconventional--someone who will always keep Mel on her toes.
> 
> I paired Nico with Rani Ri (original character I created) because I wanted to explore Nico's fact-finding detective personality on both a personal and a professional level. I wanted to do this with someone who she could refreshingly be herself around--Rani Ri, the famous design artist, with platinum hair in the style of Sia. Rani has craved stability all her life, and has a keen eye for artistic detail. Perhaps Nico would provide a solid foundation for such stability, with room to flourish.


	27. R&N: Of Opalescence & Omelettes

27: R&N: Of Opalescence & Omelettes

_11 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

_I know what you did,_ Rani thought to herself. _I don’t know exactly what happened or whether you’re entirely at fault, but I deserve to know what happened._ She glanced up from where she sat at the rounded small kitchen table, plucking another flower from this week’s bouquet of glistening marble-and-pearl-colored peonies. Reaching for her red pen, she began to compose another message on the small piece of watercolor paper before her.

_10 am, Several Days Later, New York City, Breakfast Joint_

Rani sat across from Nico in the chic diner. _It almost seemed like a misnomer,_ Rani thought to herself. _How could a 1950s relic be considered…stylish? Up-and-coming?_ But somehow it was, as she surveyed her surroundings, covered in pearl, eggshell, ecru, and cream canvas prints all along the establishment’s wall. _Her prints_ , Rani thought, with a certain sense of inward satisfaction. _Delivered earlier this morning, just in time for the morning rush_ , as her and Nico’s food arrived.

_10:10 am, New York City, Breakfast Joint_

Nico and Rani had dug into their English pea, broccoli, and French Gruyère omelettes; Nico dabbed a drop of ketchup, whereas Rani preferred mild salsa. Also, Nico preferred to cut the egg unevenly with her large fork, but Rani took a more meticulous approach, dicing hers up into tiny, 1-centimeter pieces with the marbled opalescent Mother-of-Pearl fork and knife she always carried around with her, that harkened back to a particular Ashford table from a decade ago.

 _She’s barely touching her omelette_ , thought Nico, observing Rani dice and mince the breakfast contents, pushing bits around her plate absentmindedly, while taking a stray bite every now and again. “Rani, what’s on your mind? Shoot,” she said, using a term from her academy days.

“ _Guilt_.” Rani continued to macerate the ovum, occasionally stabbing at the fragments of miniscule bright-green broccoli florets.

“ _Why?_ ” Nico asked, adding “—and can you _not_ take it out on the omelette?” Sighing, Rani shifted her fork to the other hand, nibbling on the fragments of melted cheese.

“I knew Great-Aunt Celeste’s mental state wasn’t great—I _knew_ that. She was strong, but age crept up on her and something changed somehow. She grew more power-hungry, more… _narcissistic_. She saved my life, but I wasn’t there for her.” Rani looked down at her cubed morsels. “It’s _my_ fault the Sarcana overpowered her mental abilities. If I had stepped in, _somehow, somewhere_ , she would probably still be alive—”

“You don’t know that,” Nico evenly replied, as a waitress brought them each a cup of coffee.

“I didn’t intervene—I could have—I probably _should_ have. She was so eccentric that nobody else in the family understood her except for me, at one point. She’d alienated half the clan and the other half stayed away because they didn’t want to get involved in her dealings. She had no husband, no kids— _I_ was the closest thing to family she had.”

Nico reached forward and clasped Rani’s hand. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Am I, though?” Rani asked. “I could’ve intervened—told her to enter an assisted living facility—”

“ _Rani.”_ Nico stared into her partner’s eyes through the wisps of steam emanating from her coffee cup. “Do you _honestly_ believe Celeste would have taken you up on that offer, especially from what you’ve told me? You’re talking about a power-hungry vulture that eats cute, furry woodland creatures for breakfast, _metaphorically speaking._ I doubt she’d listen to anyone, including you, even if you were close before.”

“I left her in Mykonos,” Rani murmured, sipping her own brew. “She told me off for having the audacity to fall in love with you— _for choosing love over power_ —and I lost it—and disappeared _._ ”

“Celeste made her own choices with the power she had,” Nico said, gazing at Rani. “It was her own downfall. _You played no part in it._ ”

Rani shoved a piece of egg into her mouth at that point, chewing slowly, and sipping once more from her cup of coffee. “ _Abigael,_ though. My ex, remember? She doesn’t play with her food—she eviscerates them in an ashen heap. That’s how she’s always been. And now, she’s the only one who really knows what happened and why.”

“Hence the reason you’ve been sending those white flowers?”

“The rose and the peony? Yes. And I haven’t heard a word from her yet, despite it being my signature mode of communication.” Rani finished half of her omelette and placed her napkin, neatly folded, onto the center of the plate.

“What do you _really_ want from her, Rani?” Nico put down her cup of coffee at last. “Are you trying to rekindle things…with _her_?”

“No—no—nothing like that,” replied Rani hastily. “Mainly, I just want an honest explanation from Abigael—I want her to own up for the mess that’s been made. _I want the truth. I’m owed that much, at the very least._ ”

“But maybe,” Nico brainstormed aloud. “Maybe Abigael doesn’t understand what you’re asking for?”

“Trust me, she _does_ ,” answered Rani.

“Then why hasn’t she answered you?” Nico posed the question to a contemplative Rani, her platinum hair shining below the diner’s glowing sconces.

“I dunno. Maybe she wants to avoid it, shove it into a corner— _pretend it never happened._ But _I_ know it did, and it’s _my_ great-aunt that’s dead.”

“Perhaps…you could change the method of communication? Ask for something different, this time around?” Nico inquired. “She might not be into subtle hints, that one.”

“Maybe…” _Rani had a certain lightbulb moment_. “I think I know what to do.”

_6 am, Days Later, New York City, Floral District_

It was in the early morning hours that Rani found herself wandering West 28th Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. Her platinum hair tied in a half-bun atop her head, she could smell the sweetest, most lush blossoms in all the state. Having spotted her favorite vendor of cream-colored and ecru blossoms, she made a beeline for the stall, waving a shy hello to the woman, who waved back. “I’ll have half a dozen of your finest Holland tulips in ivory and ecru, if you have it.”

“Coming right up,” the woman answered, and Rani soon found herself in possession of several lovely blooms, attached to their upright, sturdy emerald-green stems.

_10 am, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment_

Rani carefully placed the now-trimmed stems and their blossoms in a glass Mason jar, one of many that were stashed under the sink. Pulling the brightest tulip out of the pile, she composed yet _another_ message to Abigael.

_I’m visiting tonight. -R2_

Rani placed the watercolor paper and the tulip together, uttered a few words, and dropped them in her enchanted mail chute by the door. _Hoping that, for once in her life, Abigael Jameson-Caine wasn’t such a cowardly chicken-shit._


	28. HM2V: The Spiral Staircase

28: HM2V: The Spiral Staircase

_7:50 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Sixteen weeks pregnant and just one week into her second trimester, Macy felt the healthy bloom of fertility permeate her physicality. The three bags of ginger chews had nearly been used up, and she began gaining her life back, clawing forth from the 1st trimester abyss of exhaustion and abject illness. _Like how Sleeping Beauty must have felt, once her Prince Charming had kissed her_ , thought Macy to herself, as she gathered new bedsheets from the closet for Maya—a surprise, since she was being upgraded to a “grown-up, big girl twin-sized bed” later tonight.

Matias had promised to bring a new twin-sized bedframe over for Maya and assess the Epicenter Pico No. 23 bedroom walls and foundations, since Macy and Harry were looking to add a new addition ( _or three?_ ). He did mention that their proposed additions weren’t necessary, and said he’d explain why later, once he’d arrived.

_3 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry and Macy heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” Macy opened the door to a bright-eyed Matias, who carted a sturdy bedframe behind him. “ _Wow,_ you made that yourself?”

“Yes,” Matias said quietly, with the hint of a smile. “Yes I did.”

“Thank you, it’s really quite impressive, and I know Maya will _love_ it,” said Harry, shaking Matias’ hand in greeting. “We’ve been trying to figure out how we’ll fit three kids in here, given the whole ‘twins’ thing and all…”

“I know, I heard, and congratulations again,” said Matias. “Macy, how’ve you been feeling today? Morgana wanted me to ask.”

“Much more alive than last month,” laughed Macy. “I can finally type journal articles while Maya’s asleep taking a nap ( _she’s asleep right now in our bedroom)_ —and I can do all manner of cleaning before the babies arrive—”

“Excellent, _excellent,”_ replied Matias. “Morgana will be glad to hear, she’s been more worried this time around due to your early symptoms.”

“So—Matias,” began Macy, changing the subject, “why didn’t you say the proposed additions were necessary?”

“Because of _this._ ” Matias walked to a part of the wall directly to the right of the master bedroom entrance, where the outline of a door suddenly appeared, knob, keyhole, and all.

_3:10 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry and Macy stared. “M-Matias,” stammered Macy, “ _how have I never noticed this door before?”_

“Consider it a special gift from Dora and Della to you and your family,” Matias responded. “They wanted to encourage their future magical generations to settle down on this property and enjoy all the island had to offer. Dora and Della knew that one day, Darcy and Jimmy would resurface as yourselves, Macy and Harry, and that you would start your family here. The condo adjusts itself according to the number of people located within. I’m not exactly sure how they executed it, but they certainly had a knack for charms, that’s for sure.” He turned the knob, which opened to a dark wrought-iron spiral staircase, not unlike the one backstage at Tessera Nightclub, where Darcy and Jimmy had conversed over many a jazz performance. “Follow me,” he said, and the pair did so, not noticing that the bedframe Matias had carried to the door earlier had disappeared, only to make itself reappear upstairs.

_3:20 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor _

Sunlight streamed through the octagonal window and onto the wrought-iron staircase, which Harry and Macy climbed, two at a time, finally reaching the top after Matias. The flooring was a honey-colored sanded and polished bamboo, with an aura of cozy ambiance, reminding Macy of a Spoon & Tamago blogpost she’d seen earlier about architecturally designing aesthetically pleasing kindergarten play spaces. _Wow_ , Macy thought to herself. _This would be such a cheerful place to grow up—to play games—to grow one’s imagination—to frolic._ She could, for the first time, imagine all three of her children reading books in separate corners of this room, or learning a musical instrument, or putting together an intricate puzzle as a weekend afternoon family activity.

The miniature second floor hallway landing that Macy, Harry, and Matias stood on, faced three separate rooms, all of which doors were closed. “Shall we?” Matias motioned toward the first door, which he opened and the three entered together.

_3:20 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor, Bedroom 1_

The new bedframe and mattress were present, as were the new bedsheets Macy had bought for her daughter, which Matias and Harry fit over the mattress. The room, like the hallway, was airy and bright with an octagonal window, plus the same bamboo wood flooring that suited life in the tropical climate. The décor was minimal, but Macy and Harry looked at each other and smiled— _they had plenty of years to decorate._ But most importantly, Maya finally had her own room, meaning that Macy and Harry could have their master bedroom all to themselves, for the sake of their intimate life.

_3:25 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor, Bedroom 2_

After admiring the spaciousness of the first bedroom, the three exited and closed the door behind them, proceeding to the next door, which was to the right of the first (and sandwiched between the two other bedrooms). This room was about half the size of the first bedroom, but no less sunny, with a large picture window overlooking the ocean and a white crib that Harry and Macy recognized, having used it for their firstborn. _How charming,_ Harry mused to himself. _The perfect place for a little boy or girl to daydream or once older, write and philosophize to their heart’s content._ If Harry had grown up in the Azores, he couldn’t have wished for a better bedroom.

_3:30 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor, Bedroom 3_

The final bedroom was located within the furthest right door. This room was about the same size as the one they had just seen, but instead of a large picture window, there was a three-paneled aluminum fire-proof bifold window from which one could see the island’s fruit trees and various other flora and fauna. Macy examined the window, and the miniature covered balcony it led to. _Perhaps this was a preview of sleepless nights to come?_ Macy also recalled the Montessori magical exercise Harry had young Maya perform awhile ago, and how there was a segment known as the “candle and air.” It was a rare talent, to be able to channel flame effectively. _Was it possible that Epicenter Pico knew such a special child would be born?_ Macy would have contemplated this further, along with the resultant implications of needing to fire-proof an entire set of living quarters, were it not for Maya waking up downstairs, calling for her, wondering where everyone had gone.

_8 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor, Bedroom 1_

“Do you like your new bedroom, sweetie?” Macy asked Maya, as she tucked the little girl into her “big girl” bed. Maya nodded.

“Yup, I feel like a princess!” Maya giggled.

“And does the princess want to hear a story?” Harry inquired, standing in the doorway behind Macy, who turned around, and beckoned him in. Maya nodded up and down.

“How about the tale of your great-great-great aunts Dora, Della, and Darcy?” Macy asked.

“Ok mommy,” answered Maya. “Why were they so great?”

“Well, because they were sisters who each found different ways to heal people on this island, many, many years ago, before you, or we, were even born,” replied Macy.

_8:15 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor, Bedroom 1_

Harry and Macy finished giving a highly abridged, age-appropriate bedtime story to their daughter of her ancient aunts and gave each other a knowing glance.

“Speaking of sisters—” Macy looked over at Harry; they tried to prepare for this talk in advance but given neither had been in such a position before, they weren’t sure how to broach the subject.

“—Maya, you’re going to be a big sister soon, to two little babies,” Harry stated, matter-of-factly.

“ _Oh_?” Maya regarded her parents in awe and wonderment. “Where are they?”

“In mum’s tummy,” said Harry, looking back at Macy, as if to ask, _‘Am I doing this right?’_ Macy gave him a thumbs-up motion so far. “They’re tiny, but soon enough, they’ll be your playmates—and—well—they’ll look to you as their big sister—as a leader. It’s a very important role. Can you be a good big sister? Be kind to them, help them as they’re smaller than you, teach them what you know?”

“Sure, Daddy,” answered Maya, after a few seconds of pondering the topic. “Having a little sister and a little brother might be nice.”

Harry chuckled. “Maya, even _we_ don’t know whether they’ll be boys or girls. For all we know it could be two boys, or two girls, or one of each.”

Maya regarded Harry with a peculiarly serious look on her face. “Daddy, if one of them is a boy and his name is Henry, he belongs in the second bedroom. If the other is a girl and her name is Matilda, the third bedroom is hers; she likes fire.” Harry and Macy regarded each other with shock. _How did Maya know these things?_

“Maya, love, what put such ideas in your head?” Harry asked slowly. _A child that liked fire? What was that about?_

“Daddy, I had a dream I was in the tropics, but in Vera Manor Garden. And that I met two little babies.” Maya paused. “But I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Can I be a princess _and_ a big sister?”

Harry laughed. “Yes, Maya, you can be both. You’ll _always_ be our princess, isn’t that right, Macy?” Macy nodded as she swept Maya’s curls aside and kissed her forehead affectionately.

“ _Of course_ , Maya. You’ll always be our princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Epicenter Pico No. 23's second floor landing, I derived inspiration from Spoon & Tamago's blog post here: http://www.spoon-tamago.com/2016/09/07/educators-in-rural-japan-transform-their-home-into-international-kindergarten/ (see caption: "windows shaped in various geometries recognizable to a child’s eye").
> 
> I was also inspired by real-life events. As the story goes, a restaurant owner I know bought a small storefront property and there was a plain-looking door alongside one of the inner walls. Fully expecting to find a grungy mop closet, said owner was astounded to find it was a staircase, which led to a large second floor home atop the locale, the perfect size for the restaurant owner and their family. A "happily-ever-after" of a sort ;)


	29. HM2V: Gender Reveal

29: HM2V: Gender Reveal

_8:15 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, 2 nd Floor, Bedroom 1_

“Can I be a princess _and_ a big sister?”

Harry laughed. “Yes, Maya, you can be both. You’ll _always_ be our princess, isn’t that right, Macy?” Macy nodded as she swept Maya’s curls aside and kissed her forehead affectionately.

“ _Of course_ , Maya. You’ll always be our princess.”

_Noon, Five Weeks Later, Vera Manor Garden_

Maggie had festooned the surrounding trellises and tea lights with pale pink and blue streamers, setting up jars, one labeled “Boy” and the other labeled “Girl,” with bets on what gender Macy’s twins would be. Each guest was given two blue beads and two pink beads, and told to put two in whichever jar they thought would make sense—two blue beads in the boy jar, or two pink beads in the pink jar, or one blue and one pink. _So far, it seemed that the girl jar was winning._

It was a fairly decent turnout, with Matias, Morgana, Mel, Maggie, Jordan, Macy, Maya, and Harry present ( _Abigael sent her regards, as she had a mandatory work meeting with the Ecuadorian Chupacabra Council)_. Morgana had graciously volunteered her baking services and had made two dozen coconut cupcakes filled with the gender-associated colors, topped with Madagascar vanilla frosting and a generous helping of sweetened shredded coconut. ( _Macy’s coconut cravings had been through the roof lately,_ Harry had told Morgana in passing some weeks back).

Morgana had been sworn to secrecy in the latest sonogram appointment; Harry and Macy wanted to be surprised today. Harry thought perhaps there might be a boy in there, but Macy seemed to think it would be two girls—girls _yet again_ —not that Harry had anything against that, of course. As long as the babies were delivered healthy and alive, that was all that mattered.

_12:30 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Behind a Begonia Bush_

People were casually mingling about the begonias and gardenia bushes Mel had planted a year ago. _Had it really been that long?_ Mel thought to herself, holding a glass of sparkling strawberry punch in her hand. The streamers and banner were quite a nice touch, and Maggie had truly outdone herself, with the shrimp skewers, empanadas, and virgin coquitos.

“Mel, right?” Mel turned and spotted a much-older redheaded lady. “I’m Morgana—”

“Macy’s obstetrician and grandmother-in-waiting,” Mel finished.

“I see Macy’s told you about me?” Morgana peered at Mel closely, scrutinizing her eyes.

“Bits and pieces—you delivered magical babies on the island back in the day, and occasionally babysit my niece.” Mel wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was going, as she took a small sip of the punch.

“Yes, to all of the above—but I also watch some of the other neighbor kids—including those somewhat less fortunate. _Orphans_ , I mean,” Morgana mentioned, not-so-subtly. “I sense that you and your partner are in want of a child?”

Mel gave a start. “ _How…how could you possibly know?”_ she whispered, looking frantically to the left and right to ensure their conversation wasn’t overheard.

“Just a sixth sense, I suppose,” stated Morgana briskly. “I keep an eye on several young children of kindergarten age, and Maya’s come to know a few of them besides. She enjoys spending time with one of the kindergarteners, _idolizes her, really_. Charming girl, goes by the name Tory.”

_12:35 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

Morgana departed Mel, leaving the latter open-mouthed in shock. _Tory, her Tory._ After a few more minutes, Mel recovered from her momentary shock, and tried to follow Morgana, but she had somehow vanished, due to an urgent message from the Azores. _Darn it._

_12:40 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

Macy and Harry carefully cut into one of the vanilla coconut cupcakes; bright blue and pink sprinkles spilled out. “See mommy and daddy? It’s a boy _and_ a girl!” Maya gleefully exclaimed, clapping her hands. Harry kissed Macy on the lips, and Macy, though she would have been fine with any gender, was secretly pleased at the outcome. Harry would finally have another son to call his own, and she could picture Maya and her soon-to-be little girl having a sisterly relationship just like Macy had with her own siblings.


	30. R&N: A Pyre of Peonies

30: R&N: A Pyre of Peonies

_12:30 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

“Just a sixth sense, I suppose,” stated Morgana briskly. “I keep an eye on several young children of kindergarten age, and Maya’s come to know a few of them besides. She enjoys spending time with one of the kindergarteners, _idolizes her, really_. Charming girl, goes by the name Tory.”

_3:45 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“Abigael, how’d the Council meeting go?” Mel entered the airy apartment once more and spotted her partner at the Ashford dining table. “I met Morgana at the gender reveal, you won’t believe what she said—"

“As well as could be expected, and typical of Chupacabra behavior—act first, and _never_ once think,” Abigael muttered, writing what appeared to be a letter, in her fancy calligraphic script. Mel strode toward her and peered over her shoulder.

“Is that a letter?” Mel grabbed the piece of paper out of a rather weary-looking Abigael’s grasp. “ _Why are you writing to Rani?”_

Abigael massaged her head, trying to sweep away the mental anguish and exhaustion of the past three hours. “She’s coming here— _tonight_.”

_3:46 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

Mel stared at Abigael. “Like, as in,” Mel gestured around them both, “ _here,_ as in here to _this_ apartment?” Abigael nodded mutely. “No. _No._ No with a capital. NO!” Mel exclaimed. “Why would you invite her—”

“I didn’t,” replied Abigael slowly.

Mel halted her tirade, extremely confused. “So if you didn’t invite her, but she’s showing up…?”

“Rani invited herself,” said Abigael, pulling out a thick piece of high-grade watercolor paper which stated, in Rani’s own red scrawl:

“ _I’m visiting tonight. -R2”_

“But—you don’t have to let her in, right?” Mel asked. “You can, I dunno, _refuse her entry?_ Barricade the door? Use a curse or two? You’re a powerful person, you’ve got to know _something_ about door-blocking. Right?” Abigael shook her head resignedly.

“Rani has a special talent for art and orbing. Whether its due to her unique heritage or her Whitelighter-hued hair or whatnot, she can appear in any room she has a photographic memory of…and this apartment was featured in an architectural magazine two years ago.” Abigael averted Mel’s gaze. “Her sense of color goes beyond differentiating red from white. She knows at least twenty different shades of the color white—eggshell, cream, pearl…the list goes on.”

“Why hasn’t Rani entered our place before?” Mel inquired.

“Because she has a flair for the dramatic—and always did, even years back in London. Not to mention a particular sense of propriety.”

“You’re saying…that we need to leave here? Now?” Mel asked, now in a quiet tone of voice. Abigael nodded. Mel rolled her eyes. _All she had wanted was a peaceful weekend of family and fun, and now_ this. _Where could the two of them go—where would they find a safe haven?_ She suddenly had an idea.

_4:30 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

They spent the past fifteen minutes frantically packing their overnight bags, stuffing them with casual clothes, blouses, and toiletries, before finally declaring themselves done. Abigael had put the finishing touches on her letter, which she left next to a pile of ashes.

“Why the ashes?” Mel inquired.

“A warning,” Abigael replied simply. “In case she gets any funny ideas. Shall we?” Abigael offered her arm and Mel took it.

_Afternoon, Vera Manor, Second Floor_

The fancy light sconces and surroundings vanished instantaneously; Abigael and Mel found themselves parked outside the bedroom of a certain Maggie Vera. Mel stepped forward and knocked on her door, which opened before she could knock a second time.

“ _Mel?”_ Maggie exclaimed. “ _Abigael?_ But—the party ended hours ago—”

“We know,” the couple replied in unison.

“What’s up then?” Maggie asked then, puzzled.

“We need a safe place to stay for the night,” answered Mel. “I know it’s super last minute, but Abigael’s apartment isn’t safe right now—” Maggie made as if to glare at Abigael. _How dare this woman endanger her older sister…_ ”It’s not Abigael’s fault—well, _actually_ —” Mel paused again. “It’s a long story. Can you help us?” Maggie, without missing a beat, made as if to say _yes_ , beckoned them in, and closed the door behind her.

_8 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

Rani’s pale leather gloves gingerly plucked the letter from where it stood adjacent to a Mason jar halfway filled with water. Looking to her left and right, she noticed that her ex’s apartment was elegant, but oddly empty of human presence. _No matter._ She began reading her former lover’s missive, which was as follows:

_Rani,_

_I still remember our holiday in London, and how you made a lonely girl feel special and cared for. I request that the same care and due course be given to the current situation._

_A hooded figure in Sarcana robes came behind a mother in her garden shed, as if to attack her unprovoked. Her toddler acted in self-defense, blowing the figure out of the shed and onto a nearby flower bush._

_The mother’s family asked me to dispose of the unconscious hooded Sarcana, which I did in a dumpster located on the outskirts of Seattle at 1 am. I never thought to look beneath the hooded robes, a gross oversight on my part. All I felt was coursing rage, coupled with the instinctual need to protect this mother and child from imminent attack. (Full disclosure, my partner is the mother’s younger sister.)_

_My actions cost you your great-aunt. For that, I sincerely apologize. I ask of you, in the words of Charlotte Brontë herself, to temper justice with mercy._

_P.S. I appreciate the flowers, and I know you will find me soon—but if you so much as side-eye said family, I will hunt you down till kingdom come._

_-A_

Rani put down the missive, now noticing the dainty pile of ashes. _Her sweet peony._ She reread the “P.S.” portion, and everything began to make sense. Rani reached within her frost-hued vinyl jacket and pulled out a small chiffon pouch, meticulously sweeping the ashes into it using the Mother-of-Pearl knife she always carried with her.


	31. HM2V: Where the Acromion Meets the Clavicle

31: HM2V: Where the Acromion Meets the Clavicle

_Afternoon, Vera Manor, Second Floor_

“We need a safe place to stay for the night,” answered Mel. “I know it’s super last minute, but Abigael’s apartment isn’t safe right now—” Maggie made as if to glare at Abigael. _How dare this woman endanger her older sister…_ ”It’s not Abigael’s fault—well, _actually_ —” Mel paused again. “It’s a long story. Can you help us?” Maggie, without missing a beat, made as if to say _yes_ , beckoned them in, and closed the door behind her.

_Midnight, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry tossed and turned in his sleep then suddenly awoke, realizing Macy wasn’t beside him in bed. _Where was she?_ He did a cursory check of the entire bedroom, then walked into the kitchen, where she had been known to sneak a bite of fresh fruit at unusual hours of the night. _No Macy there either._ He was about to run upstairs when he heard the familiar sound of the shower tap. _The master bathroom._ Harry turned back around and headed into their bedroom, closing the door behind him.

_12:01 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bathroom_

Macy sighed in bliss as the warm water streamed across her body. Being mid-way through the second trimester with twins meant that her body began aching sooner rather than later, which made it nearly impossible for her to obtain a good night’s sleep. She wished she could have taken a soak in the hot tub but alas, it was on every list of pregnancy no-no’s.

She stared at the droplets of water on her shoulders, which looked like little sparkling, rounded diamonds dotting a path to her breasts, which were definitely larger than the last time she had a decent look at them. Her mammary veins were akin to an elegant roadmap, similar to how it had been when she was expecting her firstborn. Her left hand trailed from her right shoulder, to the front of one breast, touching the nipple, then feeling the undertow, proceeding downward to her swollen abdomen, where she lay her hand for a brief second, then continued downward until she reached the wavy tendrils of her pubic hair.

_12:02 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bathroom Doorway_

Harry gasped as he stared through a crack in the master bathroom door, watching his gorgeous wife make such delicate motions across her fecund body. His body, no stranger to such beauty, was starting to stir once more at this tantalizingly torrid vision, and he likely would have gone unnoticed had not Macy turned away from the shower head and come face-to-face with him.

“ _Oh—H-Harry,”_ Macy whispered. “I didn’t know you were awake—” Harry entered the bathroom slowly, locking the door behind him as steam slowly began to build up in the enclosed area. Macy’s nipples involuntarily stiffened, and she felt herself moisten, having noticed Harry’s shirtless, well-toned chest and rather prominent erection. _Oh my…_ Macy closed her eyes and breathed in, exhaled slowly. _Damn, how was it legal for someone to look this hot?_

Harry proceeded to shed his underwear and enter the shower. “I turned over in bed, love, and you weren’t there, so I began searching for you—"

“And you found me. _In the shower,_ might I add,” Macy murmured.

“What made you want a shower at midnight, love?” Harry gently asked his wife, kissing a lock of her sodden curly hair.

“My muscles ached, I couldn’t sleep, and the hot tub was _no bueno_ , so here I am,” Macy gestured to the above shower head. “I was also getting reacquainted with my body, which seems as though its been overrun by aliens—”

“ _Not aliens,_ Macy. Our babies. _Plural,_ ” whispered Harry. “Do you realize _just_ how stunning you look?” Harry ran a finger down Macy’s neck to her nipple, stroking the nub, then stopped abruptly, gauging Macy’s reaction.

Macy laughed. “If by “stunning,” you mean engorged breasts leaking earlier than normal, and a stomach that’s stretched larger than life—”

Harry put a finger to Macy’s lips to silence her, and grabbed at her other breast, causing it to leak just the tiniest bit. Macy moaned loudly as Harry licked the substance off her highly sensitive nub, then kissed the most delicate part of her neck. “ _You are the most beautiful creature alive, my love,_ _if only you yourself would believe it so_ ,” he murmured, now standing behind her, stroking her prominent belly, containing the results of their passionate encounter at the Portuguese ballroom.

He shivered involuntarily, recalling the moments leading up to said encounter—the brush of Macy’s gauzy ballgown against his legs, her sensuous thrusts against his ever-hardening crotch, the very moment she collided with the ballroom drawers and they took things _much_ further, as she frantically grabbed at his belt buckle, freeing his stiffened self from the suffocating fabric. How he had plunged into her hot folds at what he knew to be the peak of her cycle, locking eyes with her, realizing the _raw, untamed nature_ of their actions, the _heightened adrenaline-fueled risk_ they ran of getting caught, knowing that his viscous seed that soon coursed through his ducts, _pulsating_ through his throbbing self, _exploding_ within her, could _impregnate_ her, _his wife_ , allowing new life to burst into fruition in her womb, twice over.

 _And so it had been done_. Harry now took notice of Macy’s transformation as more steam gathered around them, reveling in her sumptuous breasts that enlarged over the past weeks and months and her growing abdomen, filled with his potent seed. “ _Mine,”_ he growled softly in Macy’s ear, causing her to exhale sharply, as he traced his erection toward the base of her spine. Macy instinctively grinded on it, causing him to groan, as he reached from behind for her breasts, cupping one in each hand as he thrust involuntarily. “ _Gods, Macy,”_ he whispered in her ear. “ _You certainly know to torture me so.”_ He could’ve sworn he saw a glimmer of a cheeky grin on Macy’s visage. Determined to gain the upper hand, he bent down and began licking the highly sensitive folds that led to the warmth of her very core. Some seconds in, Macy stopped him.

_12:10 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bathroom_

Puzzled, he rose to face her. “Tell me what you want,” Harry murmured, as Macy turned off the tap and exited the shower, drying herself with a towel.

Beckoning Harry closer, she whispered in his ear. “ _A pearl necklace.”_ Noticing Harry looked unsure of what that was, she clarified it. “ _You, coming all over my neck, hence the term.” Ah._ Harry understood now, as he dried himself off as well, and took her hand as she led him back into their bedroom.

_12:12 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bedroom_

Harry checked the door to their bedroom was securely locked, then placed himself on the bed he and Macy shared, where she now lay as well. Macy noticed that the tip of his stiffened self was moistened ever-so-slightly with the essence of _him_ , as she shivered involuntarily, in want of his soothing touch. After laying her on her side, so she was most comfortable, he proceeded to give her a massage, working out the tension that had gathered up in her upper shoulders. She groaned loudly at his efforts, and he halted. “Am I hurting you, Macy?”

“ _No_ —keep going, _please_.” The pleading nature of the last word of this phrase struck Harry in a sensual way, knowing that the woman he loved was filled to the brim with _his_ essence, and it was _he_ who would deliver her of her discomfort, in whatever way he knew how. He moved his dexterous hands through the shoulder joints, remembering from his anatomy studies (in his early Whitelighter training) where the acromion met the clavicle, and the glenohumeral joint, manually soothing each of the tender muscular areas, one by one.

_12:20 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bedroom_

Macy turned so that she was now on her back, her head propped up with a single down pillow, her eyes now glinting with a certain seductive quality. Harry inhaled slowly, drinking in the divine vision of his fertile Venus de Milo, the one who drove him _positively_ _mad_ from the very first day they met. “ _About that pearl necklace,_ ” she whispered. “ _I want you to touch yourself.”_

Harry’s heart beat faster, as he was only too willing to comply. Beginning by drawing circles with his hardness onto Macy’s swollen belly, his breath hitched as Macy added, “ _I mean it.”_ Harry met her gaze as he straddled her, taking care to avoid putting any of his weight on her changing body. Grasping himself, he stroked his shaft, steadily increasing his pace, panting, as Macy rubbed his bare thighs with her outstretched hands. _“Fuck, Macy—I’m close—”_ he whispered sharply.

“ _My neck,”_ Macy murmured, and Harry aimed himself, still stroking vigorously, with a subconscious thrust here and there, feeling his lower body fill itself, pumping, throbbing, _ascending the peak of his conscious mind, zeroing in on the apex._ Just then, Macy drew her nails into his thighs, and he gasped aloud, as his spurts began, dotting the neck of his beloved.


	32. HM2V: A Family Meeting

32: HM2V: A Family Meeting

_Next Day, Noon, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

Macy grinned as she typed up the second journal article of the day, recalling the previous night’s events. _Oh my_ , she thought to herself, feeling her toes involuntarily curl. _Escaping the first trimester certainly did wonders for the bedroom._ She had had a most productive morning, typing off her first journal article, covering the topic of lowering one’s body temperature to preserve brain function in various woodland creatures.

Maya was with Morgana’s playgroup of neighborhood children her age today, as she herself felt it important her daughter grow accustomed to living around, and socializing with, little ones closer to her own age, especially with the impending arrival of the twins. Harry would sit in on the play session, then keep watch over Macy and her sisters, per usual Whitelighter protocol.

Suddenly, Macy felt a twinge in her abdomen, and she clutched the sturdy wood desk in front of her, gritting her teeth. _Then another,_ several minutes later. _It’s too early,_ a voice seemed to say in her head.

“HARRY!” Macy screamed as loud as she could. He appeared instantly.

“Macy, what’s wrong—” he asked, concerned etched in his expressive eyes. “Is it the—”

“ _The babies. Contractions_ —it’s too early—get Morgana _NOW._ ” Frightened, Harry quickly snapped into action, clutching Macy and orbing upstairs to her bedroom. Once she was resting on her bed, he orbed to the Azores, and sought out Morgana, returning with her several short minutes later.

_12:15 pm, Vera Manor, Macy’s Bedroom_

_Mandatory modified bedrest._ _For_ _seven whole weeks_. Macy stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom, mentally counting the cracks in the paint. Thank goodness Morgana had used her magic to stem the contractions; the babies were fine, but as a precaution, she told Macy to avoid standing or walking whenever humanly possible, to avoid stressful situations, and to get as much rest as she could. _Once the seven weeks were up, Morgana would re-evaluate, but by then,_ Macy thought to herself, _she’d probably feel so hugely uncomfortable she wouldn’t want to walk anywhere anyways._

“ _Why_ me?” Macy groaned, complaining to no one in particular.

_1 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room_

Harry had reached out to all Vera Manor residents via various communications channels, and he found himself facing the motley crew in the darkened living room on this positively, _obnoxiously_ sunny afternoon. He hadn’t considered, however, that there were far more inhabitants than met the eye, as he surveyed the attendees—Maggie and Jordan ( _was Jordan living at Vera Manor?),_ Mel and Abigael ( _he thought they’d lived further afoot in the urban jungle of New York…)_ , and Morgana, of course. Matias had graciously volunteered to watch Morgana’s charges until she had returned.

Harry drew a deep breath and began. “Macy had a bit of a health scare less than an hour ago—”

“ _OMG is she ok?”_ Maggie shrieked in alarm. Everyone else seemed similarly panicked, though Abigael, he noticed was a bit more nonplussed, which was not exactly a surprise.

“Her contractions started rather early, which though rare, can happen in a twin pregnancy. Morgana intervened, the twins are fine, but Macy is under strict orders to do modified bedrest and avoid stress of _any_ kind for the next seven weeks, until the twins are viable.” Harry looked at each of them in turn. “So _your_ job is to ensure that her life is relatively handled for the coming weeks—to step in if needed, be of general use, et cetera.”

“But _how_ did this happen?” Abigael eyed Harry with suspicion. “If Macy’s already switched over to sitting and typing journal articles all the time, and Maya’s over at Morgana’s, what could have possibly triggered them?”

Harry blushed, looking uncomfortable. “Well…um…late last night, Macy had shoulder pain, I was giving her a massage…we were… _intimate_ …in the bedroom…sort of…” Mel and Maggie gave each other a look, as if to say, _TMI._

“And I thought _I_ was the insatiable one,” muttered Abigael, rolling her eyes.

“Point _being_ —” interjected Morgana, “we need to create an action plan.” Glancing over at Maggie, she remarked, “Maya needs more than well-meaning babysitting. She needs magical training to hone those natural talents of hers, before they overrun the place, should she ever have a temper tantrum.”

“Harry, can I speak to you in private?” Mel jumped up, all of a sudden, from where she sat on the velveteen couch next to Abigael.

_1:15 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

“I have an idea, Harry—just hear me out,” Mel stated. Harry remained silent, so Mel continued. “I haven’t told anyone else, but Abigael and I have been pursuing adoption—”

“Oh _my_ , what a step!” Harry exclaimed. “That’s…that’s definitely _something._ Adoption is, I’ve heard, quite a beautiful thing.”

Mel nodded, encouraged by Harry’s words. “Thing is, Abigael wants to gain experience with kids, but nobody trusts her with their own. The foundling society we’ve reached out to has relatives of Elders, and Abigael’s reputation precedes her. _But Abigael’s changed._ Everyone’s seen it. She’s got tons of experience in magical defense, enjoys riding her pony like Maya, and I really think they could learn a lot from each other,” Mel said, looking squarely at Harry, “if given half a chance.”

Harry nodded slowly. “That _could_ work—the question being, though—would Macy be alright with it? Knowing her and Abigael’s history?”

“Only one way to find out,” Mel responded, as they headed back to the living room.

_1:20 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room_

“Abigael, can you come with us?” Mel beckoned her girlfriend to follow her and Harry. Puzzled, Abigael rose from her seat, trying to ignore Maggie’s not-so-subtle stare. _Why was Abigael, of all people, visiting her sister, when she herself wasn’t allowed?_

_1:22 pm, Vera Manor, Outside Macy’s Bedroom_

Harry knocked on Macy’s bedroom door. “ _Love_ , are you awake?” he half-whispered.

“More or less. _Come in,_ ” Macy responded. Harry opened the door, allowing Abigael and Mel entry into Macy’s bedroom.

“ _Harry,_ ” Macy’s eyes narrowed upon spotting Abigael. “What is _she_ doing at Vera Manor? And why is _she_ in my bedroom _?"_


	33. HM2V: O Hail No

33: HM2V: O Hail No

_1:22 pm, Vera Manor, Macy’s Bedroom_

“ _Harry,_ ” Macy’s eyes narrowed upon spotting Abigael. “What is _she_ doing at Vera Manor? And why is _she_ in my bedroom _?_ ” she all but hissed.

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, wringing his hands. “So, _love_ , Mel and I had a discussion—”

“Without _me_?” Macy interrupted him.

“Well, for your own good _—”_ interjected Mel, “seeing as you’re on bedrest for the next seven weeks. You gotta take it easy, for yourself and the twins, which is why Harry and I have come to you with…” Mel searched for the term, “a _proposition_.” She moved closer to Macy’s bed and sat on the chair directly opposite her. “Maya needs to start magical defense training as soon as possible, and she has a knack for horseback riding, all of which Abigael has excelled at all her life—”

Macy’s eyes widened in horror. “No. _NO._ I—” she beseeched Harry helplessly. “Harry, _do something!_ ”

Harry stood back, concerned that Macy would rain down a pile of books with her telekinesis, if given the opportunity. “Love—”

“Don’t you _love_ me!” Macy shrieked. “I can’t let our little girl spend time with—with that _harpy_!” As if on cue, an enormous hailstorm exploded outside of her bedroom window, and golf ball-sized ice could be heard pelting the Vera Manor Garden down below.

“Trust me, Macy, I’m not a fan of that proposition either,” said Abigael, as all three swiveled to look across the room to where she was standing in the corner. “In fact—Mel hadn’t even _bothered_ to fill me in before we marched into your room, isn’t that right, _Mel?_ ”

Now it was Mel’s turn to look uncomfortable, but she quickly regained her composure. “Macy, I know you want to be in control of everything. This situation is _anything but_. We’re only asking you to do this because our options are very limited and we have no other choice. Maya needs to learn from the best magical teacher possible, and since all of the Elders were killed, there is no one else.”

Seeing Macy’s expression unchanged, Harry turned to Mel and Abigael. “Would you mind stepping out a bit? I’ll have a chat with Macy.” They complied and he closed the door after them.

_1:30 pm, Vera Manor, Outside Macy’s Bedroom_

“This is payback for SWS, isn’t it?” Abigael spat at Mel, who appeared confused.

“ _SWS?”_

“Y’know, _Sundays With Scheherazade._ This is your funny little way of making me pay for those sixty Sundays, right? Seven weeks of Macy’s progeny?”

Abigael abruptly turned to leave but Mel clasped her hand tightly. “Wait—just— _just hear me out, ok?_ ” Surprisingly, Abigael stopped and turned toward her partner. “We’ve been searching for Tory—and I didn’t have a chance to tell you before, but Morgana came up to me during the gender reveal and said she babysits orphans along with Maya and the other neighbor kids—one of whom is a little girl named Tory.”

“You mean…” Abigael couldn’t believe it. “ _You found Tory?_ ”

“I can’t make any promises—and I haven’t seen any photos—but there’s a chance,” Mel replied. “And I know you want experience with kids before we have our own—I think being Maya’s teacher would be an awesome opportunity—and it could bring us closer to Tory…” Mel trailed off. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Abigael mulled the proposition over. “But Maya already _has_ a mother. A mother who can’t stand the sight of me, in case you’ve already forgotten—”

“ _Abigael._ Macy is in no position to take care of anyone, let alone Maya—she’s on bedrest. Maya has powers she doesn’t know how to control, and they could face attacks at any given time if evil forces sense their weakness. This girl needs a teacher to guide her in magical defense. And she has mad pony-conjuring skills, so I’ve heard.”

“Oh, really?” The last bit regarding the pony piqued Abigael’s interest. “ _Do_ tell…”

_1:30 pm, Vera Manor, Macy’s Bedroom_

“Anybody but _her_ , Harry!” Macy hissed, pointing at the door, behind which Abigael and Mel stood talking. Harry shook his head.

“ _Love_ —I mean,” as Macy glared at him, “Macy, _darling_ , you know precisely why we don’t have any other tutors available. Many perished awhile ago, and Maya’s magical skills are extremely advanced for her age—they surpass most people’s already.”

“Maya’s only three, for crying out loud—she’s too little for magical defense _anything,_ or enchanted pony-riding, let alone actual horseback lessons!” Macy cried aloud.

“All the more reason this is the perfect time to begin her training, my dear,” Harry attempted to calm his wife down. “Imagine if I weren’t in daycare with Maya one day, and she lost her temper and injured one of her playmates. Can you imagine how frightened she’d feel? How terrified we’d be? Think back to your college years when you sang at a talent show and you nearly set a lecherous creep on fire.” Macy reflected on this. “Remember how scared you were, because your magical abilities had been tampered down and hidden from you, along with the knowledge you had additional family members? Our family motto was ‘no secrets’—no _bad_ ones, right?"

Macy nodded, and remained silent as Harry continued speaking. “My heart is with _you_ , and _you alone._ Any past dealings I ever had with Abigael is history; she and Mel love each other very much. In fact—” Harry hesitated. “Abigael and Mel are in the process of adopting a little girl. Abigael wants hands-on experience teaching kids but hasn’t been able to obtain any—”

“ _I wonder why_ …” Macy sarcastically interjected.

Harry ignored Macy’s interruption. “Abigael is a skilled magical equestrian and knows everything there is possibly to know of defensive magic. Our Maya has an inclination toward ponies and has exhibited profound magical prowess at such a young age. I think they’d make a good tutoring pair, don’t you?”

“But what if Abigael hurts Maya?” asked Macy.

Harry laughed aloud. “ _Honestly_ , love, Maya’s abilities are so strong that Abigael’s more in danger of being injured more than anything else.”

Macy pondered Harry’s last remark for a few moments. “Even if what you’re saying is true, that Abigael _can_ be a good teacher for Maya…I feel like I’m failing our daughter.”

Harry bent closer to Macy’s face, brushing a stray curl away from a tear that had fallen upon her cheek. “Why on _earth_ do you think you’re failing Maya? You’re an excellent mother—”

“A mother that can’t read bedtime stories to her little girl. A mother who can’t teach her child anything. A mother,” Macy sniffed loudly, “who’s pushing her child into the very hands of _her_ _own arch-nemesis_.”

“ _Love_.” The word lingered in the air. “You are expecting twins. _Twins._ You are growing two humans—two heads, two pairs of arms and legs and feet and _everything_. Maya has me to read her stories, remember? And—” Harry paused, collecting his thoughts. “Every day, parents send their kids to school, where they learn multivariable calculus concepts that their own parents have no idea about.”

“True,” said Macy, quieter this time.

“If we want to raise Maya to be her best possible self, we need to do what’s best for _her_ , however uncomfortable that makes us. Truth be told…” Harry trailed off. “… _I’m scared too,_ ” he whispered.

Macy raised an eyebrow. “ _You,_ Harry, _scared_? I thought Whitelighters weren’t afraid of anything—”

“Oh _Macy_ ,” as Harry kissed her on the forehead. “We may be immortal, but we are human besides. I worry so much—about you, the twins, Maya, what our life could look like—my fears could fit an _entire_ book…” He paused, peering into his wife’s eyes.

“Ok.”

“Ok…?” Harry was perplexed.

“I’ll do it,” said Macy. “Maya can do part-time daycare with Morgana and spend the other half of each week with Abigael for an hour or two at a time while I watch nearby, then longer if Abigael proves herself an effective tutor. But—” Macy paused. “I want reassurances.”

“ _Reassurances?”_

“That Maya and I will be safe,” stated Macy. “I’m not willing to play _all_ my cards, Mr. Valensi. You know that’s not how I deal.”

“Fine, agreed,” Harry responded. “I think I have an idea…I’ll work on it in the basement later tonight.”

“Whatever you need to do, dear,” Macy leaned back on the pillows once more, as Harry opened the door and brought Abigael back in, mouthing _‘I’ll fill you in later’_ to Mel, closing the door once more.

“So, ladies…have we reached an agreement?” Harry looked at Macy and Abigael in turn.

“Yes,” both muttered, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Abigael, you’ll provide 1-2 hours of part time tutoring each week on defensive magic and horseback riding. Macy will supervise from a distance, and will only intervene when absolutely necessary— _right_ love?” Harry looked at Macy, who assented. “If the first sessions are effective, the times can be adjusted, et cetera, and this will be for a duration of seven weeks (renewable at the discretion of Macy, of course). How’s that sound?”

“Fine,” both Abigael and Macy spoke in unison.

Macy then beckoned Abigael closer to whisper into her ear. “ _Abigael_ ,” Macy fiercely whispered from where she sat, “ _if you so much as touch a hair on my Maya, or if she comes crying to me because you hurt her, I will personally flay your hide in a million different directions and leave your body so unrecognizable even the underworld won’t touch it._ ” Abigael’s face displayed shock for half a second, then resumed its passive expression.

“Understood, Macy, _understood._ ” With that, Abigael departed from the room, and Harry made to do the same, after he kissed Macy once more. 

“I’ll be here… _gestating_ …if you need anything,” she called out to no one in particular.


	34. HM2V: P is for Polysomnography

34: HM2V: P is for Polysomnography

_1:30 pm, Vera Manor, Macy’s Bedroom_

“I’ll be here… _gestating_ …if you need anything,” she called out to no one in particular.

_8 pm, Three Nights Later, Vera Manor, Basement_

Harry examined his hand-drawn prototype and sighed. These past afternoons had been a chaotic whirlwind of switched schedules, shattered logistics, and everything besides. _Thank goodness for his orbing abilities and the she-shed portal_. Both avenues allowed Harry a transport method (and a backup) to pick Maya up from daycare in the afternoon and tuck her in at Epicenter Pico each night in her very own bedroom, then return to Vera Manor to check on Macy, who continued to abide by Morgana’s orders. He realized how lucky he and Macy were to have Matias and Morgana around; they rearranged their schedules to check on Maya throughout the evening and subsequent ones, while he himself toiled in the basement to add an additional reassurance to Macy and Abigael’s agreement.

He had been inspired to create this particular design based on Macy’s most recent journal article on Hypnos, the god of sleep, which mentioned “ _polysomnography_ ”—the concept of sleep studies commonly conducted in laboratories, in which countless electrodes would be affixed (painlessly) to one’s head to monitor for any abnormal brain activity. In this particular device of sorts, Harry wanted the electrodes to monitor activity, but also deflect physical objects away with twice the normal human force. _Would that be possible? There was only one way to find out_.

Harry sorted through various boxes of tchotchkes and outfits, until he found a netted ballgown whose silky, semi-transparent laced exterior was studded with pearl-shaped ornaments. _Bingo_ , he thought.

_11 pm, Four Nights Later, Vera Manor, Basement_

He scrutinized the form-fitting netting draped along the mannequin’s rotund waist and imbued the cloth with a piece of his Whitelighter self—one hair on his head, that he had parsed, scorched, and imbued therein. _It wasn’t the most precise magic, but it would have to do for now._ He stepped back and grabbed a ceramic cup that had been lying around unused for years, throwing it at the fabric.

A bright light emanated forth, and the cup missed its intended target, shattering on the floor.

 _By jove,_ thought Harry. _I think I’ve done it._

_11:05 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Jordan was fixing himself a late-night bologna sandwich after an evening yoga session with Maggie ( _“see, Jordan, yoga_ isn’t _boring!”)_ when he nearly collided with Harry himself.

“Whoa, _dude_ —” Jordan steadied his knife, which was inches away from slicing a piece of whole grain bread on the cutting board in front of him.

“Sorry, Jordan—” Harry took a couple of seconds to catch his breath. Orbing while in a heightened emotional state tended to make his landing a bit wonky. _I really should watch myself better,_ he admonished himself. “Do you have a moment?”

Jordan was about to say he would in fifteen minutes after he placed the slices of bologna on his sandwich and _ate_ said sandwich, but something in Harry’s expression made him change his mind. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I suppose the question is, what’s _downstairs_. Can you come down, and bring the plate you were going to put your sandwich on?”

“Sure,” Jordan replied, following Harry’s path through the hallway, past a door, and down the stairs to the basement, dimly lit by a single lightbulb.

_11:07 pm, Vera Manor, Basement_

“What is _that_?” Jordan pointed at the mannequin who appeared to have a large midsection made of laced fabric and curious-looking electrodes. He moved closer to the object, surveying it closely.

“What do you think it is?” Harry asked, now standing next to him, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“It’s on a mannequin, with a round stomach—” Jordan paused. “Is this something for _Macy_?”

Harry nodded. “More or less. A modernized suit of armor, if you will.”

“ _Cool!”_ exclaimed Jordan. He reached forward to touch an electrode—

A blinding light issued forth, followed by a huge crashing noise; Jordan was blown back by the force exerted on him by the armor, causing him to end up knocked out on the section of carpet Harry had pulled over half an hour before.

_11:09 pm, Vera Manor, Basement_

He blinked his eyes and steadied his vision, as everything grew clearer. _Where was he? Last he remembered, he was about to make himself a post-workout bologna sandwich._ Then he remembered. _Macy’s armor._

“Are you alright?” _Harry._ Jordan nodded and Harry extended an arm, pulling Jordan to his feet. “Dude, what _was_ that?”

“I call it the Invisi-shield,” replied Harry.

“It’s a weapon though…isn’t it?” Jordan asked uncertainly. “What’s something that powerful doing in the basement?”

“Well…as you know, Abigael’s supposed to teach Maya defensive magic and pony-riding.” Jordan knew as much. “But Macy is very suspicious of Abigael’s motives, due to their prior history.”

“So what’s that got to do with the Invisi-shield?” Jordan asked.

“Macy, as you’re well aware, is on bed rest due to her delicate condition. In the event Abigael tries to injure her in any way, the Invisi-shield will respond with twice the normal force, even if Macy’s otherwise… _incapacitated_. Carrying twins and growing twenty baby toes from scratch is quite taxing on the human body, I’d imagine. And I needed to test whether this shield worked.”

“Makes sense,” Jordan murmured. “Making me the guinea pig?”

“ _Quite._ ” And the two laughed aloud at the absurdity of the situation. “My apologies about the ceramic plate,” Harry motioned to the concrete floor opposite them, where the plate had shattered.

_11:30 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Once Harry and Jordan swept up and disposed of the ceramic shards, they headed back upstairs to the kitchen, where Jordan made as if to create another bologna sandwich.

“Allow _me_ ,” said Harry, as he plucked two pieces of bologna and placed them on a skillet, adding a dab of olive oil and various spices. Harry then toasted two pieces of whole grain bread, and plated the dish on another ceramic plate, adding a garnish of pre-washed lettuce.

“Thanks, man,” said Jordan between mouthfuls of bread and meat. “This is the bougiest bologna sandwich I’ve _ever_ had.”

“Glad to hear it, Jordan, glad to hear it,” Harry grinned, realizing he was that much closer to keeping Macy and their twins safe, and training Maya to be an independent, gifted witch for the future. _Everything was finally falling into place._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Polysomnography, also called a sleep study, is a test used to diagnose sleep disorders. Polysomnography records your brain waves, the oxygen level in your blood, heart rate and breathing, as well as eye and leg movements during the study."   
> (Source: Mayo Clinic at https://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/polysomnography/about/pac-20394877#:~:text=Polysomnography%2C%20also%20called%20a%20sleep,leg%20movements%20during%20the%20study.)


	35. HM2V: Paper Hearts & Politesse

35: HM2V: Paper Hearts & Politesse

_11:30 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Harry grinned, realizing he was that much closer to keeping Macy and their twins safe, and training Maya to be an independent, gifted witch for the future. _Everything was finally falling into place._

_9 am, Next Day, Vera Manor Garden_

Summer, this time around, meant that instead of tinkering in her she-shed or soaking in the hot tub, Macy was sitting on a lounge chair in the expansive garden patio overlooking the lush azalea, begonia, and gardenia bushes that were in full bloom. _Watching Maya and_ that _woman._

“Iced strawberry lemonade?” Harry handed Macy a small glass, and she gratefully accepted, kissing him on the cheek.

“Thanks Harry—just watching Abigael introduce herself to Maya.”

“Speaking of which…” Harry drew out what appeared to be tulle netting. “I took your words to heart and designed an Invisi-shield for you, the first of its kind.”

“An _Invisi-_ what?” Macy had a befuddled look.

“An Invisi-shield,” said Harry, demonstrating the fabric’s use. “You wear it like _so_ ” he carefully strapped it around Macy’s bare belly under her shirt, “and it protects you and the twins from magical curses of any kind, physical or otherwise.”

“ _Wow_ ,” breathed Macy. “It seems to act like a girdle too—I don’t feel nearly as much muscle strain. So, how exactly does its defense mechanism work?”

“As soon as someone tries to lay a hand on your belly without your permission, a bright light emanates and the person and/or object is sent flying, at twice the force given—about 3-5 feet back, give or take an extra inch...and a half…”

A strange look flashed across Macy’s face. “And just _how_ exactly do you have such precise measurements?”

“Jordan. He graciously agreed to go into the basement, got knocked out cold, and I fixed him a gourmet bologna sandwich for his troubles, since the last one got destroyed mid-process.”

“ _Harry_!” Macy’s mouth formed a very shocked “O.” “You can’t just grab Jordan and test something this crazy on him—is he ok? _Does Maggie know?_ "

“He’s fine, love. Of course Maggie doesn’t know, but she is aware I’ve been training him in the art of Whitelighting. I needed to ensure the shield worked, and that you had peace of mind when Maya was under Abigael’s tutelage. I took a slightly… _unconventional_ approach since this was such an unusual situation.” He regarded Macy closely. “Are you angry?”

Macy swallowed hard. “N-no Harry—not angry—just…caught off guard. With the lengths you’re willing to go for me and our babies. Nobody’s ever done anything quite so strange and crazy for me before. Honestly, I’m really touched. You’re going to make an amazing father to these kids, just like you already are to Maya.” Harry smiled, giving Macy’s hand a squeeze.

“Thanks, love, that means a lot,” Harry made as though to return to the kitchen, but Macy grabbed his arm.

“Have you ever thought about patenting the Invisi-shield, Harry?”

Harry paused in his tracks and kneeled over to meet Macy’s eyes. “Given it’s not exactly replicable and involves secret Whitelighter magic, no, but it’s something I’ve given some thought to.”

“I see…nevertheless, from a scientific innovative standpoint, I do find it _quite_ impressive. Mad props, Mr. Valensi. Mad props and kudos to you,” she leaned over and kissed him.

_9:30 am, Vera Manor Garden_

“Miss Caine, you’re pretty.”

“Oh, why thank you, Maya,” Abigael replied, while they took a break from their exercises, which mainly involved hole-punching pieces of colored construction paper using one’s telekinesis skills, much like a child would learn to cut pieces of paper for dexterity. Maya had been a natural, punching holes separate and discrete, in the shape of a heart “for her mommy,” she had said.

“Why don’t you come to Vera Manor much?” Maya then asked, her large eyes all innocent.

“Well…” Abigael tried to frame her answer in the most politically correct, child-friendly way as possible. “The skills I’m teaching you—I use those skills every day. I work very long hours to fight corruption.”

“What’s corruption?” Maya then asked.

“Corruption is… It’s like…” Abigael paused. “It’s like, if you were at Morgana’s daycare and there was a singing contest to see who sings the best, and the winner wasn’t the best singer—it was someone who gave everyone all their snacks instead. And the best singer is sad because they lost, and the contest wasn’t fair. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, sorta.” Maya reached for a fragment of purple construction paper and began tearing at its corners. A few minutes passed by, and she asked another question. “Miss Caine, do you hate my mommy?”

Abigael drew a sharp intake of breath. “Hate is a strong word, my sweet, and saved only for the most serious of situations. I prefer to think of her as a… _compatriot._ In other words, we’re on the same side fighting corruption and other types of darkness, we just have different ways of doing it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Maya nodded, then unexpectedly smiled up at Abigael. “I hope you both win.”

Abigael’s expression softened. “Thanks, darling, I really hope so too.”

_10 am, Vera Manor Garden_

The first training session was coming to a close. Maya had quickly figured out how to channel her telekinesis in age-appropriate ways, and they had discussed their toy ponies together in preparation for their next lesson. Maya showed Abigael her black pocket-sized toy pony and learned that Abigael’s own tiny three-inch smoke-colored pony was named Midnight, and that her own mommy had hid Midnight in a lockbox for many years.

“ _Why_ though, Miss Caine? Why would your mommy hide your pony from you? Were you a bad girl?” Maya frowned, her brow furrowed, as she was deep in thought.

“Maya, I may have had my share of mischief, but my mum didn’t hide my toy pony because I was bad. She took mine away because she was scared.”

“Scared? Why was your mommy scared?”

Abigael sighed. _There was so much to unpack here._ She had never realized how direct children were, and how their questions cut through basic _politesse._ After a moment, she began, choosing her words as carefully as she could. “You see, Maya, my mum didn’t understand what that pony could do for me. She didn’t care that I was happy, turning it into a real-life pony. All she saw was the danger it could create—she wondered what other non-magical people would think. She was scared I would hurt myself and others.”

“And did you?” Maya was hanging on her every word, _bless her_.

“Well…there was this one time when I was a small child. I uttered words to make Midnight come to life in the garden. I rode around, but suddenly, my mum appeared, screaming at me to hide from the neighbors, _yet again_ , even though everyone would have been fast asleep. It was late evening, you see. Midnight was so startled that I was thrown off. I was fine, but for my mum, that was the end of that. She locked him up for years, and I didn’t get him back until your Aunt Mel freed him. For that I’m grateful. Until then, I snuck off to a nearby farm to practice horseback riding on real, live horses whenever I could.”

“Wow…” Maya was astonished at this turn of events. “But you were thrown off—wasn’t that scary?”

“For a bit, yes, but I knew that I needed to conquer my fears. And when it’s something you love to do, that you absolutely live for, you learn how to heal and become a stronger person. And that’s why _you_ are getting trained Maya. To become a stronger, skilled, powerful person. Are you prepared to do your best and make your family proud?”

“Yes, Miss Caine!” Maya’s enthusiasm was positively infectious, and Abigael couldn’t help but admire her spirit.

“ _That’s my girl._ ” Abigael looked up and saw Harry smiling, as he took Maya in his arms. “Thanks for agreeing to this,” he spoke to Abigael. “I know it’s not easy.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think I could do it. Maya is a quick study, she’ll get the hang of things soon enough. Oh—and _Harry—_ ” Abigael added, “make sure she has a sturdy riding helmet for our next lesson. Enchanted ponies, big or small, can have a mind of their own sometimes.”

“Will do,” Harry replied. “I think I still have mine somewhere in the attic, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Ok then, and cheerio,” said Abigael by way of exit greeting, clearing up the tutoring items and walking back toward Mel, whose anxious face peered through the patio window. _This wasn’t so bad, was it?_ But then Abigael remembered that they were staying in Mel’s old bedroom, their apartment was being hunted by Rani (and possibly Nico), and they still had yet to track down Tory. _No rest for the weary_. That, and the fact that dinnertime would be incredibly awkward. Mel, herself, Maya, Macy, Harry, Jordan, and Maggie. _And a load of heartburn,_ she cynically thought to herself. _Six more weeks. Just six more weeks._


	36. HM2V: Lady in the Technicolor Garden

36: HM2V: Lady in the Technicolor Garden

_9 am, Two Weeks Later, Vera Manor Garden_

_Five more weeks._ Macy was, per usual, sitting on a lounge chair in the expansive garden patio overlooking the lush azalea, begonia, and gardenia bushes that were in full bloom. _Watching Maya and Abigael._ Her anxiety had somewhat dissipated after the first week of lessons, given how attentive Abigael was to Maya.

Maya had learned her ABC’s of introductory riding: “Attention, Balance, and Confidence.” Mounting and dismounting had been a bit of a struggle, though the pony’s height was adjustable, which certainly helped considerably. Leaning forward to touch the horse’s ears and leaning backward had been the next couple of lessons afterward, to assess Maya’s sense of overall balance. Maya had been scared at first, and given that she was only three years old, Abigael made sure to give her simple instruction, allowing for Maya to gradually grow more confident in her own equestrian abilities. Maya was given directions on how to take a sturdy seated position on the creature. Maggie had offered easy yoga lessons to Maya during the afternoon to reinforce the morning lessons on balance and posture.

Now, Abigael took to leading Maya and her pony around the perimeter of Vera Manor Garden, which consisted of lawn turf (the picnic table and chairs had been pushed back to the porch door), which led to an edge of Vera Manor, and around a hidden hedgerow path (the begonia bushes and azaleas had grown rather taller lately), and back around to the lawn turf once more— _a miniature oval shape, much like a child-friendly version of the Kentucky Derby_ , thought Abigael.

_9:30 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes_

A figure lay hidden in waiting, observing the small curly-haired child interact with her beautiful and obviously pregnant mother. Rearranging her pristine pale gloves, she surveyed the scene: the tall, expansive Victorian house, the countless overhead tealights, and the dark-colored pony that nibbled on a piece of peeled carrot, much to the child’s delight.

_9:40 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes_

Maya resumed her position atop the pony, and Abigael slowly led the pair around the dewy lawn and around; they were now in the hidden part of the garden, and Macy’s view of them was partially obscured by the high gardenia plants, the flourishing azaleas, and burgeoning begonias. From where Macy sat, she could barely make out the outline of Maya’s pink sneakers and her distinct walnut-colored riding helmet. She knew that if this lesson had been given just two weeks before (and pre-Invisi-shield), she would have been biting her nails and doing all matter of anxiety-related activities. As it stood, Abigael had not yet given Macy any reason to distrust her. _Macy hoped that it remained that way._

Several towering trees had sprouted practically overnight, creating a peaceful forest-like ambiance. _Was that the result of Vera Manor’s magic, or Maya’s?_ Abigael wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t seem to be harming anyone or anything, so far as she was concerned. Bluebirds and sparrows chirped in the distance, and the oak leaves rustled overhead. If Abigael hadn’t known any better, she would have thought she was in a corner of the Tree Sister’s forest park back in her hometown of Sussex.

_9:41 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes_

“Miss Caine,” Maya suddenly called out. “There’s a pretty lady who wants to talk to you.” They continued to round the bend, the scent of summer blooms wafting through the early morning air.

Abigael gave a wan smile. “Your mum, you mean?”

Maya shook her head. “No,” she replied. “ _There_ ,” as she pointed to the platinum-haired figure who had just stepped out of the azalea bushes and was now squarely in the middle of their path. _Rani._

Attempting to remain calm for the sake of the child, Abigael nevertheless drew in her breath sharply. _Sooner, rather than later. And far earlier than expected._ Time stood still for that ineffable moment, in which gold-colored leaves danced across their visages and magenta azalea petals swirled lazily as if in an entrancing, dream-like duet. Somehow, it reminded Abigael of that one time she ventured out to Kyoto to ride a pink-colored train during the cherry blossom season, an altogether mesmerizing, floral dreamscape in and of itself.

She remembered stepping onto the vintage, impeccably clean vehicle, and walking to the very back, finding a window seat.

_It was almost as if it were yesterday. The morning breeze wafted through the train as it slowly but surely took off at a steady pace, leaving the urbanized platform and making its way through the close-shaven peridot green suburban lawns, which were soon replaced by rich emerald-green forestry that seemingly towered multiple stories above her. The coolness of the fresh air kissed her forehead in a refreshing manner and was a welcome break from the nightmarish activities she had done the evening before._

_It was then she noticed the low, damask-like, billowing pink clouds elegantly strewn across the approaching tree branches—or were they? Her sleep deprivation must have been playing tricks on her. She took a double-take, realizing that the pink clouds were, in fact, millions upon millions of cherry blossom petals. As the train chugged nearer and nearer, the resultant wind caused the petals to flee their branches before her into a veritable silken snowstorm, much like the holiday globes she recalled seeing in storefronts each winter. She placed her outstretched hand outside the train window and caught a fistful, which she drew to her nose, inhaling the intoxicatingly exquisite scent. A few seconds later, she stuck her fist back out of the train window and released the petals to the wind. It felt oddly appropriate for the circumstances—and cathartic too._

_Just then, her stomach began growling, so she reached into her satchel and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped anpan, a Japanese sweet red bean pastry fresh from the oven, taking a bite to fortify herself for the hours to follow. Chewing slowly, she closed her eyes and sighed with bliss. Even though she claimed to detest anything smacking of happiness or light, she imagined that this was, for her at least, in this very moment—paradise. Pure, blissful paradise._

_9:42 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes_

Rani was the first to speak. “I got your letter. _I get it,_ ” she spoke softly, wisps of her snow-white hair fluttering in the invisible breeze. To avoid revealing too much detail to the child, she chose her words carefully. “She hadn’t been herself for ages. It’s not your fault. They’re your family—you were protecting them.”

Abigael gave a curt nod, but their eyes locked for awhile as if she wanted to transmit by osmosis the memories of what had happened between receiving Rani’s red-tinged rose and the coconut milk-hued peony, and the rest of the adventures that had led her to Vera Manor with Mel. “I’m in the middle of teaching—can we talk another time?” Abigael finally said.

“How about dinner? Couple’s night in? I’d love for our partners to finally meet,” responded Rani, with a toss of her crystalline bangs.

“S-sure,” said Abigael. _Was this really happening?_ She steadied her voice. “My place? I make a mean Beef Wellington, you know.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” With that, Rani gave a quick wave to Abigael and Maya, and vanished.

 _And just like that,_ Abigael thought to herself, _she had been given a new lease on life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of accuracy, I read "ABCs for Teaching Tyke Riders Part I: Getting Started" (link: https://horseandrider.com/western-horse-training-tips/abcs-teaching-tyke-riders-27433).
> 
> I was also inspired by a photo I saw of Kyoto, Japan during cherry blossom season in which a pink-colored train is visible.
> 
> Finally, the Sussex Great Forest is a campaign that, according to TreeSisters.org, met its goal of planting 100,000 trees worldwide. According to its website, Tree Sisters works with women on reforestation projects around the world, channeling feminine leadership into local and global action.


	37. R&N: The Tenderloin Type

37: R&N: The Tenderloin Type

_9:42 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes_

“How about dinner? Couple’s night in? I’d love for our partners to finally meet,” responded Rani, with a toss of her crystalline bangs.

“S-sure,” said Abigael. _Was this really happening?_ She steadied her voice. “My place? I make a mean Beef Wellington, you know.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” With that, Rani gave a quick wave to Abigael and Maya, and vanished.

 _And just like that,_ Abigael thought to herself, _she had been given a new lease on life._

_Noon, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Abigael walked through the patio doors and hugged Mel from behind while the latter was making a quick chopped salad of lettuce, tomatoes, chicken, zucchini, and peppers, with a touch of balsamic vinaigrette dressing. The zucchini and peppers had come from Macy’s front garden in the Azores, which had been transported to Vera Manor by way of the she-shed portal.

“Wow, Abigael, where’s this coming from?” laughed Mel as she portioned out the salad. Macy, Harry, and Maya, meanwhile, had taken over the outdoor picnic table (enjoying iced tea and cucumber lox sandwiches garnished with dill), and Maggie and Jordan were at work. Mel couldn’t recall the last time her partner had been in such a free-spirited mood. The past couple of weeks had been emotionally nerve-wracking, and Mel never once regretted using the paid leave she’d saved up, in the process. It _was_ a nice change to be out of the loud city, with its pavement so hot due to the summer heat, that one could positively fry an egg on it.

Abigael laughed aloud and momentarily detached herself from Mel, setting the kitchen table for two, utensils and all. Once they had sat down and began eating the leafy greens, Abigael finally spoke. “Our apartment is finally safe to return to.”

“Oh—wow!” Mel exclaimed. “That’s awesome! _Really?_ ” Abigael nodded, though her smile faded a little after a few more seconds. “What is it?”

“Well…” Abigael faltered. “There’s good and bad news.”

“Ok…” Mel said, hesitating, her lettuce-filled fork poised mid-air. “ _Spill_.”

“Good news: we have our apartment back, and you have leave and I’m on summer hiatus, and with the she-shed portal, we can go back and forth whenever we please, so we can help Macy _and_ attend to our daily needs.”

“…And the bad news?” Mel asked slowly.

“—Depends on your perspective. Rani’s coming to dinner this Friday—” Abigael began.

“ _What?_ ” exclaimed Mel. “First she sends you a rose covered in fake blood, then a peony you turn to ashes, and _now_ she wants us to play hostess _and_ she wants her lover back?”

“Actually, it’s a double date—she wants to make amends, and she’s bringing her girlfriend—” said Abigael, trying to sound as diplomatic and peaceful as possible, which was difficult given her chosen profession. “So, _no_ , she’s not looking to take on another lover. Last I checked, she seemed rather content with that girlfriend of hers. I hear she’s dark-haired and studious. I think you’d like her.”

 _Abigael almost sounded—pleasant? Or nostalgic?—when talking about that ex of hers_ , thought Mel to herself. She sighed. No matter. She was Mel Vera, a strong, fierce, fearless woman—a powerful female with impressive brainpower. But that didn’t matter in the here and now. “And this dinner is required for her to lay off?” Her partner nodded.

“So it would seem.”

Mel pondered the curious nature of this absurd situation. _A white-haired woman obsessed with the color sends creepy flowers to an ex, breaks into the apartment, and is likely bent on avenging her great-aunt’s death. Something was missing._ “How did Rani let you know she was fine with dinner—and not going after you for her great-aunt?”

“She accosted me in the bushes of Vera Manor Garden earlier this morning when I was giving Maya riding lessons.”

“ _Wait_ —so _Maya_ saw her? What if Maya had gotten hurt?” shrieked Mel, astounded at Abigael’s apparent lack of concern.

“Rani meant us no harm, told me she understood why I did what I did, and accepted my apology,” replied Abigael, neglecting to mention anything of the heartfelt letter she’d written to generate such a response. “I told her I’d make us all Beef Wellington.” She drew a forkful of zucchini to her lips and chewed. _Who knew Azorian zucchini tasted so good?_

Mel couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy. “Beef Wellington? You’ve made Shepherd’s Pie, but you’ve never _once_ made Beef Wellington for _me._ ” She stabbed at her salad, spraying bits of vinaigrette on the edges of her plate.

“You never seemed the tenderloin type,” Abigael remarked, then immediately regretted having said so.

“ _Meaning?”_ Mel was now staring at Abigael. _I dare you. Test my patience again, why don’t you…_

“You’re all about healthy, quick-prep meals,” Abigael hurriedly responded. “Beef Wellington’s a highly complex recipe that requires a bunch of ingredients and, at minimum, two hours of oven preparation…”

“I can get the ingredients.”

“ _Pardon?”_ Abigael was now the one gawking at Mel. “Are you sure? I mean, _love_ , it’s a lot of little items…they cost a pretty penny…”

“I’ll go grocery shopping with Harry and Jordan at the organic market and get them there. Gimme a list and I’ll do it.” Mel knew she wasn’t a great cook, but in a showdown with her partner’s ex, she was determined to come out on top.

“Ok…if you’re _absolutely_ certain…” Abigael replied cautiously.

“I am.”


	38. R&N: In Your Cricket World

38: R&N: In Your Cricket World

_Noon, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

“I’ll go grocery shopping with Harry and Jordan at the organic market and get them there. Gimme a list and I’ll do it.” Mel knew she wasn’t a great cook, but in a showdown with her partner’s ex, she was determined to come out on top.

“Ok…if you’re _absolutely_ certain…” Abigael replied cautiously.

“I am.”

_10 am, Organic Grocery Store, Meat Aisle_

Mel surveyed the list again. “ _1 pound of beef tenderloin_.” All she needed to do was find a cut of meat that was already labeled and arranged in the refrigerated section, right? However, she hadn’t accounted for the acute sticker shock as she sifted through the heavy parcels of cold, icy meat. She’d expect a single pound of meat to cost upwards of six dollars at a regular grocery store. _But thirty dollars??_ Mel wondered if the grocery store’s label machine was broken but realized that the price hike was due to the organic aspect. She rifled around through several one-pound biodegradable plastic-wrapped packages, finally choosing the cheapest, which was twenty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents exactly. _Maybe Abigael was right when she said she didn’t seem the ‘tenderloin type.’_

_10:10 am, Organic Grocery Store, Vegetable Aisle_

She checked the list once more. Salt, pepper, and olive oil were all at Vera Manor kitchen already. The next ingredient to hunt for was mushrooms ( _half shitake and half cremini_ , Abigael’s calligraphy specified). Mel wandered over to the refrigerated prepared vegetables section, where she spotted both in miniature plastic-wrapped recycled cardboard cartons. She was used to spending a dollar on simple generic mushrooms. Mel regarded the product labels overhead. _Ten dollars for the lot? Sheesh._

_10:12 am, Organic Grocery Store, Deli Meat Aisle_

Next was the prosciutto. From what she could recall, there was a deli meats section, and the last time she bought cold cuts, she recalled paying three dollars. _She was beginning to dread price-checking. Please let it be three dollars, please let it be three dollars, please—_

Mel plucked the prosciutto from the metal display hanger. _Nine dollars,_ it read. She sighed, throwing it into her slow-filling shopping basket.

_10:15 am, Organic Grocery Store, Condiments_

Jordan and Harry were quickly gathering their items at warp speed, treating the whole exercise as a miniature scavenger hunt. _What was with men and time-based competitions?_ Mel groused to herself, kneeling in front of the mustard section to pick out “Original English Mustard” with supposed “whole mustard seed.” _Original and genuine, as opposed to what, fake?_ Mel thought sarcastically, spotting the bottle and placing it in her shopping basket. The next item after that? Mel rechecked her list. _Puff pastry._

_10:20 am, Organic Grocery Store, Frozen Pastry Section_

Mel opened the freezer door and a cloud of fog obscured her view of the products. She reread Abigael’s footnote. _Puff pastry needs three hours in the fridge to thaw prior to use_. So in essence, the prep time for Beef Wellington was…five hours at bare minimum? _Yeesh. Puff pastry…puff pastry…_ she searched and searched again, realizing that the closest thing she’d ever had to puff pastry was the three-dollar stuff that came in a can. _She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry._ This exercise in futility seemed to drive home the point that Abigael and she had been brought up worlds apart with completely different cultural norms, foods, mannerisms, and everything else. _Do I fit in your world?_ Mel thought to herself.

_10:30 am, Organic Grocery Store, Dairy and Egg Section_

Mel quickly found a carton of eggs, which she was about to place in her cart, but Jordan and Harry came over and stopped her. “Not _those,_ ” Harry said tactfully, placing them back in the refrigerated aisle.

“But they’re organic—” Mel began.

“ _These.”_ Harry held up a half dozen eggs, with the words “British Lion” and an accompanying insignia crest. _Classy._ “For a proper Beef Wellington, you must use entirely British ingredients.”

Mel checked the price. _Ten dollars_. She groaned.

_11 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

“Here’s the groceries you asked for,” Mel said, handing Abigael the bundle.

“Thanks,” Abigael kissed her in response, seizing the plastic handles. “I’ll put these in the fridge for now, then take them over to the apartment once I’m done with the magical defense portion of today’s lesson.”

“How do you afford to shop like this every week?” Mel couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t,” Abigael’s tinkling laugh could be heard as she opened the vegetable crisper drawer. “If I did, I wouldn’t be able to afford my apartment nearly so much.”

“ _Phew,_ you had me for a moment there—it’s four times more than I usually spend on groceries,” replied a relieved Mel.

“I can pay you back?” Abigael shut the fridge door and turned to Mel.

“N-no, whatever, it’s fine, it’s a one-time thing…” Mel responded. “It’s just—” she paused.

“ _What_?”

“We have such… _different_ tastes—literally and figuratively. The meat I buy costs five dollars. Yours was thirty. You know how to make fancy British dishes—and I’ve burned nearly everything I’ve ever made— _and_ set the smoke detector off. _Multiple times_ , in fact.”

“This isn’t about the tenderloin, is it?” Abigael scrutinized Mel closely, stepping closer to stroke a tendril of her partner’s dark, flowy locks. Mel looked up at Abigael, wanting to contradict her—of _course_ I’m being silly. _Of course_ I’m cost conscious. _Of course_ it doesn’t matter—but when she opened her mouth, what she said surprised them both.

_11:10 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

“ _Do I belong?”_

Abigael’s mouth involuntarily twitched, unsure of whether to frown or laugh. “Belong, as in, belong in…the apartment? Fit in, in my life? Belong with… _me_?”

“All of the above,” sighed Mel, avoiding Abigael’s eyes. “I’m no Rani. I’m neither rich nor famous, I’m not platinum-haired, I know toddlers with more Instagram followers than me—I’m _nobody_.”

Instead of discussing the topic at length, Mel’s insecurities bubbling to the surface, Abigael did something different. “ _Who are you? Are you—Nobody—too?”_ she whispered in Mel’s ear. “Remind me again, how do the last lines of the poem go?”

“ _How dreary—to be—Somebody!/How public—like a Frog_ ,” murmured Mel.

“ _To tell one’s name—the livelong June_ —” Abigael uttered.

“ _To an admiring Bog_!” ended Mel, a smile curling upwards on her lips. “A poem by the great Emily Dickinson herself.” Abigael nodded as she kissed Mel on the nose affectionately.

“I found fame overrated—it’s one of the reasons it never worked out between Rani and myself,” remarked Abigael softly. “We could have been happy, her and I, except she was constantly jetting off places for her art shows, and there were days I woke up late at night, and I wouldn’t know which country or time zone she was. It would be days before I’d get so much as a call. Long story short, I learned that while fame is fun at first, it can be very lonely. My career is unpredictably hazardous, and with that sense of danger, I have found comfort in stability. With _you,_ my Cricket.”

“Cricket, as in, _the bug_?” Mel made a face; she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply insulted.

“No. As in _Jiminy Cricket._ You’re my _voix de raison_ —my conscience. Every time I go off the rails, just the tiniest bit, or grow heavy-handed in my negotiations, or need a peace treaty written up for the next monster—I turn to you, _Cricket_ , for your infinite wisdom—whether you realize it or not.”

“Really? _Me?_ ” Mel asked incredulously.

Abigael nodded. “ _You’re_ the sensible, smart one. _You_ keep me balanced, and _you_ make me happy. It’s as simple as that.” She paused to gather her thoughts, as she enveloped her partner into her arms, touching her forehead against Mel’s, as they stood in the kitchen. “It’s not a matter of belonging in _my_ world, love—” Abigael whispered against Mel’s cheek. “ _It’s a matter of merging ours together_.”


	39. R&N: Beef in the Wellington

39: R&N: Beef in the Wellington

_11:10 am, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

“It’s not a matter of belonging in _my_ world, love—” Abigael whispered against Mel’s cheek. “ _It’s a matter of merging ours together_.”

_7 pm, Friday Night, New York Luxury Apartment_

Mel heard a knock at the door but was unable to answer, as she had her head in the oven at that very moment, preoccupied with the roasted almonds. _All of which had stuck to the oven pan._ _Why did I forget to add olive oil_? Mel silently berated herself. _And of all days, too_.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Abigael called out as she smoothly glided to the door in her Japanese silk slippers. Mel continued to chip away at the almonds, wondering if the skills gleaned in this effort could be transferable to a bricklayer’s or roofer’s occupational career path. She heard the door swing open, coupled with the pattering of elegantly-treading footsteps on the Siberian oak floor, as she used a metal ladle to scoop the nuts into a nearby ceramic bowl.

“ _Snow_?” Mel heard Rani murmur.

“ _Red…_ ” Abigael’s voice could now be heard. “It’s been simply _ages_. Why don’t you two settle down at the Ashford table? Mel will bring a snack for us shortly.” And so the guests strode toward the table, making themselves comfortable.

From feet away in the kitchen, Mel lifted the delicate cup of roast nuts and headed for the table, shaking hands with Rani, who wore white gloves that matched her platinum hairdo. “Mel, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said softly. “I’d also like you to meet my girlfriend—Nico, _do_ stand up, won’t you?” The figure stood up next to Rani and looked Mel squarely in the eyes. _Holy…_

Mel turned pale as a ghost, dropping the ceramic bowl which shattered into smithereens at her feet, the almonds scattering in a million different directions. _It was Nico._

_7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

If it hadn’t been for Abigael poking her not-so-subtly in the ribs, there would have been a lot more explaining to do. As it were, Mel was awakened from her abject shock and moved quickly to freeze time.

“You two know each other?” Abigael had asked, seeing the reaction Mel had exhibited.

“ _Know her—_ Abigael, we dated for quite some time!” Mel exclaimed furiously. “What’s Rani playing at?”

“Rani? I have _no_ earthly idea what you’re talking about—Nico’s been Rani’s girlfriend for quite awhile,” Abigael replied. “And if we’re getting our apartment back in one peace, we really _must_ do better at our hospitality skills, no?”

“ _Nico was my girlfriend_ ,” Mel uttered in a low voice as she searched under the coffee table, the lounge chairs, and other areas of the floor, picking up almonds and other stray debris. “Why didn’t you warn me?” Mel whirled around and stared at Abigael, who was now sweeping shards of pottery into a dustpan.

“ _Warn_ you?” Abigael laughed mirthlessly. “What’s there to warn about? _Besides_ —” Abigael paused to carry the full dustbin to the kitchen, emptying the contents into a dark garbage bag. “Isn’t ‘Nico’ a common name? Like—” She searched for a few words, “’Katie?’ ‘Marie?’ ‘Krista?’”

“No,” replied Mel, gritting her teeth, shaking her head all the while. “’Nico’ is a _very_ unusual nickname for ‘Nicole’…I would know, since _I_ came up with it. Her real name is Niko, with a _k_ , but we texted using aliases because she was in the police academy.”

“Honestly _,_ I had no idea,” said Abigael, growing increasingly impatient. “ _Look._ Nico’s a very private person—she’s not even allowed to be photographed in the tabloids due to her job—”

“ _You’ve kept up with her?”_ Mel shrieked. “I thought we weren’t supposed to have ANY secrets!”

“Any secrets as in, pertains to you directly and affects your safety and overall well-being, you mean,” clarified Abigael. “If I were to delve into my current leadership duties and describe them to you in full detail, I’d be going on till the end of time, and your head would in all likelihood explode. _Literally_.”

Mel thought over what Abigael said for a few minutes. “Ok, _fine_. But…how long have you known Nico?”

“I met her in passing at an Art Basel show in Miami Beach some years ago, long before you and I became an item, Cricket. And if I may ask, if you’re so attached to Nico, why aren’t you with her now?”

Having been caught off-guard, Mel stammered, “—b-because of magic. Her memory was wiped. She doesn’t remember anything of our history.” She blinked hard and stared up at the expansive ceiling’s sconces, trying to will away her tears. “ _She doesn’t remember me at all, and it’s my fault._ ”

_7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

Mel looked down at her watch. She could’ve sworn half an hour had passed, but the timepiece still read “7:10.” Abigael had brought her a cup of Earl Grey tea to calm her nerves, and the two sat talking on the living room couch. “We weren’t even supposed to be together,” Mel began, between slow sips of piping hot tea. “She and Greta were engaged, but Nico and I took one look at each other—”

 _“_ — _And you knew,_ ” Abigael finished her partner’s sentence. Mel nodded, unable to continue, for fear of yet another emotional outburst.

“I remember feeling something similar like that the night I met Rani,” Abigael murmured, staring through the expansive window to the sunset, paused over the city horizon.

“So you get it then—” interjected Mel. Abigael didn’t answer, instead sipping her own cup of tea, which might or might not have had a tablespoon of brandy stirred in for good measure.

“The loss of a story cut too short, the ‘what-if’s?’ the untold tales?” Abigael spoke. “ _More than you could possibly understand._ ”

_7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“How do you heal, though?” Mel asked in a slightly wavering voice. “How do you stop the pain from piercing your consciousness? How do you bury your feelings, once and for all? _How do you forget?_ ”

“You don’t,” Abigael replied simply. “Sure, concoctions make it possible, but then the emotions come in a torrent once more, crushing your spirit like none other. In British terms, ‘you adopt a stiff upper lip,’ my Cricket,” she said, stroking Mel’s hair as they continued to stare far below to the dots that were cars on the distant streets, the glowing marquees, the looming skyscrapers still filled with hedge fund managers pulling all-nighters, the bars—lurid or luxurious as they could be—full of hopeful men and women, men and men, women and their female acquaintances, and everyone in between, transgender and cisgender alike, hoping to find their true love amidst life’s daily struggles.

Silently, Mel reached out to clasp Abigael’s hand as they finished their tea.

_7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“And if I’m being honest,” Abigael piped up, “if I hadn’t had those countless struggles, those terrible heartbreaks, those sordid histories in the dregs of midnight—I wouldn’t have become the adult I am today—and I wouldn’t have met _you_.”

Hearing those words, Mel smiled. “Same.”

“So…how about we give this evening a do-over?” Abigael proposed. She stood up and Mel did the same, proceeding to the kitchen to drop their now-empty mugs in the sink.

“Sounds like a plan,” Mel replied, now pulling out another bowl ( _plastic, this time_ ) to place the remaining almonds that came directly from the now-cooled pan.

“ _Lovely._ I’ll warm the Beef Wellington in the oven, and we’ll be right as rain,” and the two kissed.

_7:10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

The Beef Wellington, a sumptuously ornate dish, was set on a tile hot plate in the middle of the Ashford table. The delectable tenderloin had been baked to perfection by Abigael herself, with diced sautéed mushrooms surrounding the meat, all wrapped in prosciutto and layered over with delicate puff pastry.

Mel added utensils, plates, and wineglasses in front of each person’s seated area. In addition to the bowl of roasted almonds, she added a side dish of broccoli that Abigael had hastily sautéed in olive oil. _With her culinary skills and my time-stopping abilities, we could conquer the free world_ , Mel thought to herself, now grinning.

Abigael’s arm draped over Mel’s shoulder, her red apron slightly askew. “Ready?”

“ _Ready.”_ And with that, Mel unfroze time.

_7:12 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“ _Wow_ , Abigael, you’ve certainly outdone yourself,” Rani proclaimed, between delicate bites of meat she had cubed with the Mother-of-Pearl knife set she always carried with her.

Nico agreed. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at British food the same way again.”

A bittersweet expression flickered across Mel’s face, as she swallowed a sip of wine. “So, _Nico_. Tell me more about yourself.”


	40. R&N: A Cosmic Catharsis

40: R&N: A Cosmic Catharsis

_7:12 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

A bittersweet expression flickered across Mel’s face, as she swallowed a sip of wine. “So, _Nico_. Tell me more about yourself.”

_7:18 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

The next several minutes had Nico explaining her personal life and career trajectory from a misunderstood, angsty teen to a collegiate with the typical misadventures, which then led to snippets of her police academy days. _Mel could have recited the summary bullets word-for-word_. She knew Nico just _that_ well.

_Mel had memorized, long ago, the shape of Nico’s willowy figure, the texture of her ebony hair, the smell of her skin after an early morning shower, the feel of her own fingers interlaced with hers, the way she would laugh whenever she was shown a picture of a cute puppy on Instagram, and how Nico always used to say that maybe, in the future, they’d have their own someday._

_The inexplicable sparks that arose when their lips touched, the swooping pit in her stomach each time she gazed at her across a crowded room. The museums they had met at clandestinely, during Nico’s lunch breaks, to examine the latest Georgia O’Keefe or Andy Warhol exhibit. The evening strolls around the city they had last inhabited, exploring the vintage bookshops and antique weaponry storefronts that Nico enjoyed so much, holding hands in that distinctive way, playing a hidden game of thumb war that no one else could ever see._

_8 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“Red.”

“ _Snow.”_

 _“_ Iris.”

“ _Cricket._ ”

“… _Nico._ ” The four laughed aloud as they said their goodbyes. Of everyone present, Nico was the only one without an alternative moniker ( _or so she thought_ ). “Red” corresponded to Rani, both due to the first letter of her first name and the fact that when Abigael met her in London a decade ago, she had been wearing a cherry-red holiday sweater. “Snow,” oddly enough, was Abigael instead of Rani, due to Abigael’s Ashford table and preference for marble-patterned furniture that had withstood the test of time. Mel couldn’t help but notice that Rani’s patterned knife set matched the Ashford design perfectly.

“Perhaps we can do this again?” Rani looked up at Abigael, who regarded her with a neutral, though not unpleasant, expression.

“ _Perhaps_ ,” mused Abigael, as Rani and Nico departed. After waving goodbye at them for a time, she closed and locked the door, turning to face Mel.

Mel’s heart was still burning, smarting, _singeing._ It wasn’t about the puppy she and Nico would never adopt, the secretive museum visits that vanished, the vintage bookshop dates that were no more, the myriad hidden ways they painted their love for the world to see that had long since dissipated. Perhaps, at the end of the day, they might not have survived as a couple. It was, rather, the agony of knowing that she had stolen those memories from Nico, for Nico’s own safety. And the awareness that, unlike past lovers who smile nostalgically at fragmented memories of a lone dalliance, Nico would never, to her dying day, hold so much as a shred of memory of the passion she and Mel once shared.

_8:01 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

Mel sank to the floor in a heap, physically and emotionally spent. Abigael, after much cajoling, guided her partner to the living room sofa, where she stared up at the expansive ceiling, as if she were in a psychotherapist’s room instead of her partner’s luxury apartment.

“Mel, I’m sorry,” began Abigael, sitting in the cushioned chair opposite her. “If I’d known—Rani’s notorious for subtle irony—but I don’t think she did this on purpose—I would have warned you, _I swear_.”

“I know,” Mel replied, trying her best to take slow, deep breaths to keep herself from crying or hyperventilating at the farce that had just taken place. _This had to be some kind of cosmic joke, right? Couples’ night with a memory-wiped police academy ex and her celebrity partner, who was Abigael’s own ex? Karma truly was a bitch. Maybe the universe is punishing me for wiping Nico’s memory?_

“It’s not your fault,” Abigael remarked softly, as if she could hear the remaining vestiges of Mel’s exhausted inward thoughts; she moved from the cushioned chair to the upper edge of the sofa where she now sat, tenderly stroking Mel’s cheek as tears began to fall of their own accord. She added, nearly inaudible this time, “ _I love you…I love you…I love you…I love you…I love you…”_

_9 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

Mel sprang up suddenly and grabbed a couple of napkins from the kitchen. “Tissues,” she explained to a confused Abigael, as she returned to the sofa once more. “So I don’t stain your fancy fabric.”

Abigael gave her a bemused expression. “You just received the shock of your life in the form of a memory-obliterated ex and my own possibly homicidal ex-girlfriend, and you’re worried about my _furniture_? Mel Vera, I never figured you for the materialistic type…” Abigael remarked, albeit jokingly.

_9:05 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

Mel couldn’t help but smile, wiping traces of her earlier tears away as she rose to a seated position. “Yeah, what a day,” she whispered, holding Abigael’s hand.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the evening? I owe you _that_ much—” Abigael began.

“Can you dance with me?” Mel asked. “Then maybe an Audrey Hepburn movie night over popcorn?”

“That sounds _lovely_. _Let’s.”_

“Oh, and _Iris_ ,” murmured Mel, grabbing Abigael’s hand as she was about to rise from the sofa’s edge, “ _I love you too.”_

Mel then proceeded to pull out her phone, turning it to the next slow song on her playlist.

_Mel’s hand encircled Abigael’s porcelain visage as they kissed. She drank in the lovely image of her partner’s sylph-like figure and her richly chestnut-hued hair. Eyes locked upon the other, they interlaced their hands, beginning to dance once more in the rhythm of their steady, steadfast heartbeats. Mel realized that Nico was a part of her past, but that Abigael was her future. She was firm in the knowledge that she and this Iris of hers were closer to building a beautiful and altogether unique family of their own with their daughter Tory, someday very soon. Though the early evening had caused her considerable grief, the cathartic renderings she experienced in the timeless period and thereafter made known to her that Abigael was her “forever,” in the life they had created for themselves in the city. Her “now, and forevermore.”_

_As it had been, and as she always knew it would be, Mel truly felt at home in the embrace of her one true love, the beguiling, sophisticated Abigael Jameson-Caine, with her complicated underworld ventures and nefarious genius now employed for good. And a thought suddenly occurred to her…what if? What if, in this quest for their family…what if she were to propose to this partner of hers, who had always kept her on her toes from the very beginning of their relationship? The one who was the ‘yin’ to her ‘yang’—the intricate balance of darkness to her light—the winter to her summer, the natural chaotic entropy to her exacting sense of order, and everything in between? She would, perhaps, begin an incognito online search for minimalist-yet-fashionable rings tomorrow. But tonight,_ she thought to herself, _date night had already begun; true love beckoned once more._


	41. HM2V: Z is for Zoological Scripta

41: HM2V: Z is for Zoological Scripta

“ _I’ve looked at life from both sides now/From win and lose and still somehow/It’s life’s illusions I recall/I really don’t know life at all._ ” -Joni Mitchell (from her album “Joni Mitchell—Live Radio Broadcasts,” 1966)

_9 am, Vera Manor Garden_

It was early morning, Maya and Abigael were beginning their typical ‘mind palace’ routine of channeling their mental energy much like yoga, _and his wife Macy was nowhere to be found._

“Macy? _Macy? MACY!_ ” Harry called for his wife in progressively louder tones.

“I-in here, Harry,” a voice responded, causing a prickling in his brain. _Macy._

_9:01 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

Macy was sitting on a chair, her head buried in her arms on the sturdy wooden desk that housed the duplicate DNA sequencing machine. Harry walked up to his wife ever-cautiously. “ _Is it the twins? Do I need to call for Morgana—”_

She shook her head, her curls undulating in the summer breeze. “No, Harry,” her muffled voice stated. “I’m afraid this is an issue of a professional nature.”

Harry was confused. “In what sense? You’re clearly a scientific genius…” And he could have sworn he just heard the end of the lyrics to Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now,” a rather mournful tune about life’s hard internal battles and inward-facing disappointments.

“I received my results from my latest publication query.” Macy lifted her tear-stained face a couple of inches. Harry moved forward, rubbing her back and making all manner of soothing noises for the next several minutes while neither of them spoke.

_9:11 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

“So…what was the verdict?” Harry finally ventured to ask, once the floods of tears on Macy’s face had abated somewhat.

“All of them— _all_ of them—” Macy repeated for emphasis, “rejected except for one publisher requesting an additional manuscript.”

“Wow, an additional manuscript—you must’ve really impressed them—” Harry began, but Macy threw him a withering look.

“Harry,” she said, looking up at him, “I’m used to being the best at _everything._ I’ve always been close to first in my class, once I got my act together and chose a major. I do everything right. I thought I had—a chance—” her voice shook as she showed him the hard copy letters that had flown into the mail chute that morning. Harry took them and skimmed through for a few moments, his eyebrows arching higher at the contents of one, and he had a decisive chuckle at another.

“Macy, Macy, _Macy,_ ” he began, his back leaning on the sturdy desk as he faced his wife of three years. “I think you’re being _far_ too hard on yourself. This is your first time submitting your work to journal publications—”

“I’ve done this before—” Macy protested. “Remember my genetics lab work?"

“Your first time as a _solo project_ , I mean. In your _she-shed_. Before, you were working within a team of…ten or twenty professionals? In a state-of-the-art facility worth millions?”

Macy reluctantly acknowledged that Harry had a point. “ _Thirty_ ,” she whispered. “A team of ten lab managers, twenty postdoctoral candidates, equals thirty. Not to mention the constant rotation of interns from top 20 colleges and the round-the-clock editors—"

“You see?” Harry replied, taking Macy’s hand in his. “Early solo success is highly unusual in this sort of venture—”

“But Harry,” Macy wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I’ve _always_ been the top of my field—my postdoc supervisor always got _his_ through—"

“—With the aforementioned team of thirty—”

“True,” Macy sniffled. _Harry had a point._

“You’re working out of a post-exploded she-shed, doing the work of thirty people on your own, you’re the mother of a toddler, _and_ pregnant with twins! _Oh, and you’re supposed to be on modified bedrest.”_ He peered at Macy, who shrugged her shoulders with a sheepish look. _Caught red-handed._

“Besides, _love_ , and be honest—what would you do if you found instant success? Wouldn’t it be boring?” Harry continued to stroke Macy’s hand, turning it up to interlace her fingers in his.

Macy nodded. “I’d probably be on to the next adventure—getting my feet wet in writing a science textbook. Or three. Then, I wouldn’t know where else to take my brain. I’d be bored to tears.”

“ _Exactly.”_ Harry reread some of the letters again. “ _Zoological Scripta, Malacologia_ , _Journal of Experimental Biology, Journal of Experimental Zoology,_ and _Acta Zoologica_. Hmmm…I think rule number one is to know one’s audience,” he stated matter-of-factly, holding the _Malacologia_ rejection letter in his other hand.

“What do you mean?” Macy asked curiously.

“For starters—” Harry regarded the penmanship closely. “You submitted an article on mammalian polysomnography sleep studies to a publication house that exclusively focuses on clamshells. Clams are invertebrates, not mammals, love.”

“Oh.” Macy could feel herself blush. _Whoops. Damn pregnancy brain._

“ _Journal of Experimental Biology_ and _Journal of Experimental Zoology_ may be a bit too mainstream—mentioning the Greek god of sleep among a bunch of technocrats might literally put them to sleep.”

 _Harsh criticism but true,_ Macy silently mused to herself. “What about _Zoological Scripta_?”

Harry read the corresponding letter. “It seems it’s not a “ _No,”_ but rather a “ _Not Yet.”_ They want you to make edits and submit an additional manuscript—seems like they liked the first one,” he beamed at Macy, who still looked somewhat skeptical. “That sounds quite promising! How about this—you work on the edits and the manuscript while Abigael teaches Maya. And then…”

Macy thought this over. _Sounded reasonable enough._ “ _And then_ …?”

“You can read them to me after Maya goes to sleep,” Harry answered. “I’ll be your beta reader.” Harry and Macy grinned at each other.

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Valensi— _my_ you’re full of excellent ideas this morning,” Macy whispered as he orbed her back to her chair in Vera Manor Garden.

“You know I always aim to please, Dr. Valensi.” And with that, he orbed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Research Notes:  
> Zoological Scripta, Malacologia, Journal of Experimental Biology, Journal of Experimental Zoology, and Acta Zoologica are real-life scientific zoological publication journals of excellent repute. And Malacologia does, in fact, focus exclusively on mollusks (shellfish, etc.), not mammalia. (Sorry Macy!)
> 
> Author's Note: "Z is for Zoological Scripta" is loosely based on personal experience in journal publications. I remember the struggle of finding my niche, followed by the collaborative editing processes lasting well past midnight for weeks on end, and (finally!) the satisfaction of seeing my name in print, along with those of my peers. That having been said...
> 
> This short story-within-a-story is dedicated to all the unpublished writers out there who struggle to have their stories heard by literary agents, niche publishing companies, boutique groups, the big 3, and everyone in between, especially during this historically tumultuous time, in which many companies have halted accepting blind queries. Here's to the aspiring writers who have invested endless weeks, months, and years of putting pen to paper, only to find rejection at every turn. Here's to those who were told their story is too creative, or not creative enough. Or perhaps, that their voice is somehow lacking or deficient, despite all evidence to the contrary. You are not forgotten. Keep sending those manuscripts. Keep shuttling those short stories to those contests, to anyone willing to listen. Let your voice be heard--go forth, and keep writing ;)


	42. HM2V: Of Eights & Orchids

42: HM2V: Of Eights & Orchids

_9 am, Two Weeks Later, Vera Manor Garden_

_Three more weeks until Morgana’s reevaluation of bedrest._ Macy’s belly protruded as she struggled to find a comfortable seated position for herself on the Wilkins wrought-iron patio chair, dabbing her forehead as beads of perspiration issued forth from the effort. Harry had padded said chair with a myriad of cushions, but Macy could feel the weight of four miniature legs, four entwined arms, and two giant fetal heads bearing down upon herself, especially in the warmth of the summer morning.

If she had heeded all the telltale signs, Hestia’s musings, her own dreamscape revelations, would she have still gone ahead and tried for a second pregnancy, as uncomfortable as she now found herself? Macy paused to mull this over. _What if Maya had been an only child_? _No_ , decided Macy. She had enough of that growing up—the uneasy, disconcerting sense she lived under a microscope, constantly having to explain where she was going and why, for how long, every single day.

It hadn’t been Dexter’s fault—that much Macy knew for certain. It couldn’t have been easy raising a daughter completely on his own—let alone a magical one—with nobody to lend a hand. Macy rubbed her belly, wondering what her late father would have thought of Harry. Would he be upset that she had married someone that wasn’t his own nationality? _Likely not_ , Macy answered for herself, given how he and her mom had different backgrounds themselves. _And if she recalled correctly, they had met around a decade ago, even if they didn’t know the significance at the time._

They had been cordial to each other, Macy had recalled, and Harry had been the ever-proper British gentleman, with his suit vest, tie, and collared shirt, which was likely a welcome contrast to the men she met at bars back then—loud, brash, and (more often than not) _incredibly_ drunk. Macy sighed to herself, turning to her laptop perched on the miniature rounded porch table on her right, part of the three-piece Wilkins Bistro Set that Harry had recently purchased for her online, so she could supervise their daughter and revise her journal submission in peace. _After an initial interrogation_ , Macy mused, _perhaps Dexter and Harry would have become buddies, watching football together on Sunday afternoons_. She wished that her father could see how happy she was now, with Harry, their little daughter, their soon-to-be twins, their extended family, and the livelihood they had created for themselves.

_9:10 am, Vera Manor Garden_

Macy scrutinized the letter from _Zoological Scripta,_ reading the list of suggested changes.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _Revisions_ :

  1. Provide a deeper discussion on the historical significance of Hypnos
  2. Edit language for clarity
  3. Clarify conceptual framework



_Write a response letter, then resubmit._

_Best wishes & regards,_

_\-----(name of reader)------_

_Zoological Scripta_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next to each number, Macy added notes:

  1. Research and write on Hypnos
  2. Have Harry read manuscript after Maya’s bedtime; avoid complicated words
  3. Write one more page in the framework section



_It didn’t seem too bad, right?_ Macy tried telling herself as she perused scholarly articles on her internet search engine, alternately bookmarking several and skimming through the various remaining ones.

_10:35 am, Vera Manor Garden_

Nearly an hour and a half later, Macy looked up from her laptop. She had made considerable progress with respect to the Hypnos research and writing exercise; three primary sources had cobbled themselves into somewhat legible academic text, and she decided a brief break was in order, as she made to turn off her laptop.

 _Where were Abigael and Maya?_ She wondered for one long second then relaxed, seeing them emerge from across the bend of tall, overgrown flower bushes. At first, Macy had wanted to chop the lot down, but Harry persuaded her to leave them be, saying that perhaps this was part of the riding and magical defense training that would benefit their daughter. It dawned on Macy that this was the first time she had ever left Maya unsupervised with Abigael _._

Contrary to what she believed would happen during a hailstorm some weeks ago, Macy had been pleasantly surprised by Abigael’s teaching abilities. So far, Maya had learned to balance, mount and dismount her pony, groom the pony’s mane and coat ( _short brush strokes, front to back_ ), feed her pony healthy treats ( _pre-peeled baby_ _carrots_ ), and do introductory steering to lead the pony around the curve of Vera Manor Garden, without breaking out into three-nager tears even _once_. Truth be told, it seemed as though Abigael was something of a “child-whisperer.”

The next lesson after this, if Macy remembered correctly, would involve teaching Maya to do a trotting figure 8 with her pony. This necessitated cutting a path straight through Mel’s prized azalea bush. Luckily, Mel gave permission, though it involved Abigael shamelessly bribing her with an extra movie night or two, coupled with an expensive potted set of rare _Cymbidium faberi_ black-and-pink orchids that awaited her back at their apartment.

_11 am, Vera Manor Garden_

The magical defense lesson came after the riding activities, which was perfect for Maya, as she would be too exhausted to have her mind focused on anything else but the task at hand. Abigael worked with construction paper and other simple craft items. In the first week, Maya had successfully drawn a green dinosaur and made it move on its piece of paper; said paper was now attached to the Vera Manor fridge with a magnet, and it alternated between roaring noiselessly and sleeping, its tail curled around itself like a little housecat.

During the second week, inspired by her girlfriend’s thermodynamic abilities, Abigael taught Maya how to create snow, which fell onto the summer lawn and melted instantaneously until Maya tested her own skillset, lowering the soil temperature so that two full inches of snow settled atop. Harry was so impressed that he’d gone out and returned with snow cones for everyone in the house, Abigael included.

A greeting card with flowers enchanted to open and close, had been the highlight of the third week. Maya’s card to Macy included five flowers attached to its front—one for each immediate (and in two cases, _future_ ) member of the family. Macy remembered receiving the gift from a starry-eyed Maya. “What is it?” she recalled asking Abigael, who was across the lawn, cleaning up her art supplies.

“A card. Open it,” Abigael offhandedly replied, so Macy did and teared up immediately after. Maya had written the words _“I love you_ ” all over its insides in different colors and font and had enchanted the writing to stay still for a few seconds, then move every which way within the page.

“ _Thank you—it’s beautiful_ ,” Macy recalled whispering to Abigael, who broke into a smile at receiving the compliment. _Her first, from Macy no less._

Initially, Macy had no idea how Abigael would train Maya—would hard-core weaponry be employed, with a side of heavy-handed nun chucks? How was it possible to train a toddler in the art of war, and fast? The horrors of prior attacks and vanquishings that Macy encountered left her riddled with nightmares, concerned for her own daughter’s future and overall physical and emotional well-being. But Macy knew now that she needn’t have worried so much. In her own way, Maya had learned the foundational knowledge of how to freeze objects, channel telekinesis, and apply empath skills.

As Maya ran around the lawn with her familiar _pitter-patter_ , laughing gleefully aloud, Macy grinned, thinking to herself that perhaps, in the middle of the chaotic, tumultuous world in which they lived, there was indeed hope for the future.


	43. HM2V: Courgette & Diamond Light

43: HM2V: Courgette & Diamond Light

_9 am, One Week Later, Vera Manor Garden_

_Two more weeks until Morgana’s reevaluation of bedrest._ Macy’s belly made it impossible for her to see her feet nowadays. She struggled to find a comfortable seated position for herself on the Wilkins wrought-iron patio chair, her laptop once again sitting on the small table to her right. Her Hypnos research and writing were now complete, as was the new-and-improved conceptual framework. _Harry was right_ , Macy thought to herself. The manuscript re-submission was a promising sign, a “ _Not Yet”_ instead of an outright “ _No._ ”

_Noon, Two Weeks Later, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Due to the overabundance of zucchini proliferating in the front lawn of Epicenter Pico No. 23, Matias had taken it upon himself to deliver a large basket full of the _courgette_ in person, by means of the she-shed portal.

Harry and Matias shook hands and Harry proceeded to wash the many vegetables that tumbled out. Macy and Maggie found themselves in the kitchen sitting at the table, slicing away at the zucchini while Abigael and Maya worked on another one of their construction paper exercises.

Macy examined the recipe for zucchini fritters she had found online.

 _Zucchini Fritters_ —ingredients: one zucchini, one large egg, 1/3 cup of flour (more if you have a big zucchini), sea salt, olive oil

 _Zucchini Fritter Sauce—_ 2 tablespoons of soy sauce, 1 tablespoon of rice vinegar or regular vinegar ( _not_ apple cider vinegar), and a smattering of roasted sesame seeds

 _Let’s see_ , she thought to herself. _Zucchinis?_ Check. _Eggs?_ Probably—check. _Flour? We live in Vera Manor—how is that even a question?_ Check (though almond flour and chickpea flour were alternative keto mainstays too…). _Sea salt_ and _olive oil?_ Check. As for the fritter sauce ingredients, she was pretty sure those were buried in a kitchen cabinet somewhere, and Matias probably already had a canister of sesame seeds given that he carried all his market wares in his satchel these days.

She reread the caption next to the “ _1/3 cup of flour.”_ “ _More if you have a big zucchini.”_ Macy stifled an adolescent giggle just as Harry happened to peer over her shoulder.

“Oh _my_ , Dr. Valensi, are we being naughty today?” Harry whispered into his wife’s ear with his delectable British accent, as she turned slightly pink.

“N-no,” Macy responded, trying very hard to suppress her juvenile laughter. “Just— _big…zucchini…_ ” she showed Harry the captioned instructions, his eyes merrily twinkling at the phrase as Macy burst into peals of laughter.

“ _Oh my GAWD_ get a room, you guys!” Maggie snapped Macy and Harry out of their dirty reverie, rolling her eyes at the pair of them.

_12:20 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Macy and Maggie finished slicing the zucchini into ¼ inch slices, and sprinkled them with sea salt, leaving them out for the next several minutes, per the directions. In the meantime, Harry placed flour on a plate while Maggie whisked an egg into a separate bowl, bringing both to the kitchen table where Maggie, Macy, and Matias together created a human assembly line, coating the zucchini with flour on both sides, dipping each in egg. Once all of the zucchini had been flour and egg-dipped, Harry proceeded to fry them on the stove, flipping each half-dollar-shaped piece each as the edges turned a crisp golden brown.

Maggie stirred the ingredients for the accompanying dipping sauce, and soon after, the zucchini fritters were placed on the kitchen table with sauce (Matias _had_ brought pre-roasted sesame seeds after all, which added a lovely sauce garnish). Six people sat down to lunch with accompanying placemats, forks, knives, and cups—Harry, Macy, Maya, Abigael, Maggie, and last, but certainly not least, Matias.

 _“Delicious,”_ murmured Abigael, still chewing. “Reminds me of my time in Asia…” The other four agreed, turning to thank Macy for having found the recipe online.

_12:25 pm, Vera Manor, Kitchen_

Just then, Macy felt a sudden fetal kick at her ribcage; caught off-guard, her grip loosened on her kitchen knife which tumbled through the air and landed on the linoleum floor, but not before causing a 2-inch slash to the back of her hand on its descent. “ _Fu-“_ she stopped, realizing Maya was present, “- _dgesicles-on-a-stick…Ow,”_ she gasped. Harry made as though to apply his Whitelighting abilities, but felt a tiny hand stop him.

“Daddy, let me try,” and before any of the adults could stop her, Maya grabbed Macy’s hand, holding it in her own. A diamond-colored light emanated from the child’s palm, warming Macy’s sun-kissed skin as the pieces of her outermost epidermal layer stitched themselves together without so much as a scratch, to everyone’s utter amazement.


	44. HM2V: Double Entendre Delight

44: HM2V: Double Entendre Delight

_9 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

“Who’s Daddy’s proper little Whitelighter? Who’s Daddy’s little diamond?” Macy heard Harry playfully saying from upstairs.

“ _I am! I am!_ ” Macy smiled into her decaf coffee as she sat on the living room couch. It had been weeks since she last set foot back in their condo, and she had been petrified at the thought it would be in utter shambles. But she needn’t have worried; Harry, as always, had kept the place miraculously spotless—not a single dust bunny to be seen. They still had one more week until Morgana reevaluated the modified bedrest order, but as Macy hadn’t had a subsequent episode of early labor, they figured that she could still return if Harry held her in his arms for the few seconds it took to do a transatlantic voyage.

_9:30 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

Macy read and reread the Hypnos paragraphs, now complete, alongside the slightly-more-polished draft of her most recent conceptual framework. Matias had had the foresight to take Macy’s laptop to the Azores as he portaled via the she-shed, knocking on Epicenter Pico No. 23’s door to drop it off. Harry answered within seconds, carrying it to the coffee table, where it now lay.

 _Was this the best she could do?_ Macy thought to herself, mulling the question over in her mind. She had done as thorough of a review as she possibly could, combing through the most recent published articles on her topic. She had synthesized the information, adding an analysis she believed was second-to-none. All she had to do now was provide the draft to her beta reader.

She meant to give Harry the updated version weeks ago, but between finding new articles online and subsequent updates to her own work, Maya’s training with Abigael, and Harry himself having to keep up the Epicenter Pico condo _and_ Vera Manor, things had understandably fallen to the wayside.

_9:32 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room and Kitchen_

She heard Harry’s footsteps as he descended the spiral staircase, closing the door behind him. “Maya’s finally asleep,” he said wearily as he walked over and sat next to her on the living room sofa, leaning his head on her shoulder, eyes closed, sniffing the luxurious scent of cloves, cinnamon, and guava.

 _“Mmmmm…”_ he whispered in her ear. “ _Nice perfume.”_ Macy giggled, her lovely curls springing forth, encircling her entrancing visage.

“Eau de smoothie, more like,” she replied impishly, pointing to the kitchen counter, which had a blender sitting atop, filled more than halfway with frozen fruit, almond milk, and fruit from Faial Market (pre-sliced coconut and sun-ripened guava).

“ _Love_ ,” Harry implored. “I thought we talked about this—modified bedrest means _very_ little moving!”

“Oh, I _know_ ,” Macy replied airily as Harry rose to examine the blender more closely. “I used telekinesis to open and close both the fridge and freezer doors, take out the fruit, and place the blender on the countertop. But I still can’t figure out how to turn the blender on when I can’t see the button from this angle,” she continued, now appearing genuinely disconcerted.

“Oh, like this you mean?” And with a tiny _click_ , Harry switched on the blender. He kept the machine whirring for fifteen seconds upon which time the smoothie ingredients had been pureed into an icy dessert. He then unplugged the blender, pouring the fruit concoction into two separate glasses, which he brought to the living room coffee table.

“Cheers,” they said in unison, and drank.

_9:35 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

Macy pushed her laptop onto Harry’s lap. “Is this—?”

She nodded. “The new-and-improved Hypnos analysis and conceptual framework. For your review, beta reader.”

“Alrighty then, so it shall begin.” His eyes skimmed the first sentence in the page, then the second, third, fourth, and so on, proceeding from the introductory paragraph to the body paragraphs, checking for any errors or substantive inconsistencies integral to the topic. He turned track changes on, adding a few comments here and there, plus a couple of grammar items.

Macy hadn’t realized how this was affecting her until he turned to her. “Love, can you _please_ stop digging into my arm? It hurts so…”

“Oh—sorry, Harry. I think—I’m just—just a bit anxious, is all. Y’know, getting something published solo and all that.” Macy unfurled her talons from Harry’s alabaster-hued skin, noticing the slivered moon-like marks and reddened indentations sprinkled throughout his forearm. “ _Jeez…_ I’m really sorry about that. Do you need anything?” Macy knew her husband was a powerful Whitelighter with his own built-in healing mechanism, but she couldn’t help but ask, all the same.

“How about…” Harry pondered for a moment. “How about I sit on our bed in the other room and make the edits there, so I can gather my thoughts without your getting nervous?”

“Sounds good, Harry. Take your time.” Harry took the laptop with him and closed the door to their bedroom.

Macy looked down at the two half-filled smoothie glasses and sighed, using her telekinesis once more, this time to put Harry’s glass in the freezer so it would still be cold upon his return.

_9:50 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

The door opened and Harry emerged.

“Where’s my laptop?” Macy asked, looking up at him with questioning eyes.

“I turned it off,” he replied. “I made a few comments and grammatical notes here and there, but _really_ Macy—I think you’re almost ready for a resubmit.”

“ _Really?_ ” Macy nearly shrieked excitedly.

Harry nodded, bending over to kiss Macy’s forehead. “You’ve really put forth a superb effort Dr. Valensi.” He glanced at the coffee table. “You haven’t by any chance seen—?”

“Your smoothie’s in the freezer, I didn’t want it to melt while you were helping me out.” Harry’s eyes shone as he retrieved the smoothie glass and headed back to the sofa where Macy had been the whole time.

_9:52 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Living Room_

Harry sipped the remainder of the smoothie. “Absolutely _divine_ , if I may say so, Dr. Valensi,” he murmured, kissing her on the lips.

“Oh, _Harry,_ ” Macy whispered, grinning cheekily. “You certainly taste… _delectable_.” She ran her slender fingers through Harry’s own, then upward, to his forearm, kissing the marks she had left earlier. Her index finger traced the myriad indentations that dotted his pallor, _akin to_ _the Waning Crescent_ _phase of the lunar cycle,_ thought Macy, which she recalled learning about ages ago in a sophomore 2nd semester astronomy class. She heard Harry draw his breath in sharply, and a rather naughty idea occurred to her.

“Did you ever think about how “lit,” as in “literary review,” rhymes with “clit”?” Macy asked Harry, while continuing to rub his forearm ever-so-sensuously.

“N-no—” Harry stammered, momentarily caught off guard. “I was, however, thinking back to my own dissertation cock-up decades ago…”

Macy raised an eyebrow. “ _Do_ tell, Mr, Valensi…”

“Well,” Harry began, “my dissertation was positively _bulging_ at the seams with mistakes, as I attempted to adhere to overly rigid deadlines while avoiding relentless criticism.”

“Oh, _really_?” asked Macy, attempting to sound innocent, her hand now encircling his knee. “Did you do a dry run?”

Harry shook his head. “The deadline came too fast—I was forced to do without when it came to my oral argument. Erect posture and all I went down to the auditorium, which was _quite_ wet—”

“Did you slip?” Macy inquired, the corners of her mouth twitching into a cheeky grin.

Seemingly oblivious, Harry continued. “As a matter of fact,” he paused. “I most certainly _did._ The blasted damp London air caused me to stumble—I fell on my face, and my pants front was _utterly_ soaked.”

“The education committee must have had a shock—” Macy began.

“Luckily, it was too dark to notice,” replied Harry. “I was scared stiff, facing a hard-to-please crowd with its punishing remarks and all. Fortunately, I scraped by—passed with decent enough marks, and well, as they say, _the rest is history_.”

Harry then placed his empty smoothie glass in the sink and orbed Macy to the master bathroom, where they brushed their teeth, flossed, and prepared for bed.

_10 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bedroom_

Harry’s eyes widened as he had a sudden realization. Oh. _Oh. Oh my…_ Had Macy been trying to speak in double entendres this entire time? He saw her blooming form on the opposite end of the king bed turned away from him and decided to investigate. “I have some feedback on your article, Macy,” he whispered in her ear.

“Harry, it’s already ten—”

“I found the body of your paragraphs quite beautiful—a pleasure read, really,” he began, brushing a lone curl from her bare shoulder.

“ _Oh really?”_ Macy responded, turning around slowly to face him, a cheeky grin etched on her visage. “Is there… _anything else_ you’d like to report?” Harry drew closer to her form, rotund with his seed, and he shivered involuntarily.

“It was _quite_ a tight argument, but flexible too I daresay,” he whispered. “Smooth enough too, to—” he reached under her silken nightgown to fondle her breast, “— _insert comments_ ,” he murmured, causing Macy to gasp.

“So—it came together—very nicely?” Macy attempted to steady her voice, squirming involuntarily all the while beneath her husband’s sensual touch.

“Absolutely. There’s just a couple of things,” responded Harry, now snaking his arm around his wife’s toned legs and rounded belly, filled to the brim with life.

“What’s that?”

“Well, _Dr. Valensi_ , it seems I need to do a file transfer, then unzip the file, but there seems to be a slight catch in the plan.”

“The catch _being_?” Macy reached up to Harry’s face to stroke his dark curls.

“That—” Harry’s breath hitched, “—your assets are simply _too large to bundle,_ ” he murmured, closing his eyes and inhaling Macy’s natural and altogether intoxicating scent.

“Given your predicament,” Macy drew an exaggerated sigh, “I’m _wide open_ to suggestions.”

“And you’ll just have to _grab my column_ and _peg away_ , won’t you?” Harry’s eyes grew dark and smoldering. “Assuming—of course— _it’s safe?_ ” he whispered. Macy nodded.

“Absolutely, Mr. Valensi, without a doubt.” Macy reached under Harry’s boxers for his erect shaft, freeing it from its cloth confinement; rubbing her thumb against the head, she licked its silvery drops, causing Harry to groan loudly.

“ _Good gods, Macy, you’ll be the death of me_ ,” he muttered through his involuntary thrusts, though he showed no signs of wanting her to stop. Macy took this as a sign of wanton encouragement and enveloped him in her mouth completely, causing his fists to tightly clench the sheets between them. She continued her deep explorations, from root to shaft to head, repeating those meditative motions, finding her own sensuous rhythm for the next moments as he writhed beneath her heady touch.

She could already feel his balls moving upwards, contracting, seizing of their accord. “M-Macy, love, _soon_ —”

“ _On me,”_ she all but ordered, and he complied, pulling himself from her mouth. Leaning back he aimed, causing spurts of sheer ecstasy to emanate in rivulets over her engorged breasts.


	45. R&N: Of Rings & Magical Wish-Giving Things

45: R&N: Of Rings & Magical Wish-Giving Things

_7 am, New York Luxury Apartment_

At long last, Mel had narrowed down her selection of tasteful, minimalist engagement rings to two major contenders. She examined her phone once more, picturing one, then the other, on her beloved Iris’ slender left ring finger. _Which ring should she choose?_

The first was a multicolored haze of floral metal and wood, with genuine flower petals of bluebells, blue hydrangea, pink orchid, and 24 karat gold. _A bevy of blues,_ Mel thought to herself, recalling how Macy had told her years earlier of how this particular color was scientifically proven to reduce stress. _But would it be able to withstand the beatings of everyday life, especially given that Abigael negotiated with extremely ‘rough customers’ (for lack of a better word)?_ The material encasing the delicate petals appeared to be… _clear plastic? No, the price point was too high. Glass? Too delicate. Likely some form of costly resin,_ Mel believed. The underlying metal options were sterling silver, stainless steel, or titanium.

The second was a breathtaking floral-inspired ring, with petals ( _twelve in all_ ) made of lab-created diamonds in a marquise almond-shape, encircling a pale pink center stone of morganite. This jewelry piece reminded her of her favorite Georgia O’Keefe orchid artwork, with shades of damask, silvery grey, and black, and of her very own _Iris_ , whose nickname was adopted from the aforementioned painting. Mel re-examined the product description. _Gem size: 5.0 x 5.0 mm, total carat weight: 0.71 (approximately)._ The ring itself gave the appearance of delicate femininity, but according to various comments left of the internet marketplace site, the thing certainly _could_ take a thrashing or two.

 _That decided that, then._ Mel clicked “Buy it now,” and provided her necessary payment and mailing information. _Estimated time for delivery: 1 week (approximately),_ the resulting signage read. _Here goes nothing._

_7:30 am, New York Luxury Apartment_

Just then, Mel received a “new email” phone notification— _an e-vite_. Curious, she opened the electronic letter, which displayed a most adorable “ _Baby Sprinkling!”_ invitation to Macy and Harry’s Azores-based event hosted by Morgana. She wondered at first about the “sprinkling” wording, then recalled that a baby shower was for one’s first baby, and any subsequent ‘showers’ were termed “sprinklings.”

 _What to buy for her niece and nephew-to-be? What to buy?_ Mel checked online, inserting keywords such as “comfiest infant blanket in the world,” before remembering that Macy and Harry both lived in the tropics. _So much for that._ She did a randomized search for “twins baby shower gift” and her eyes fell upon a miniature “gym” set expressly designed for two babies to fit underneath what appeared to be a mobile… _or a pair of mini jungle gym bars? No,_ Mel rejected that idea. She was all for prepping the little ones for a magical future, but that item had “Meathead” written all over it.

She found a twins onesie set with the word “ _womb mates_ ” scrawled across the front. Mel sighed. _This was going to take awhile._

_11:30 am, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

“I now declare you bedrest-free!” Morgana exclaimed, after having done a thorough examination of Macy’s protruding belly. Macy and Harry whooped and gave each other high-fives. “And _just_ in time for your baby shower,” she added, her long red-and silver-streaked hair tied into a high bun above her head. “Speaking of which—apologies this is _so_ last minute—any particular food preferences? Décor? Ambiance?”

Macy shook her head. “Honestly, Morgana, Harry and I trust your judgment—your garden is the stuff of fairytales. I don’t think it needs that much more décor, except…” she hesitated.

“Yes, dear?” Morgana prompted.

“Can you have stringed tealights handy in the event the party goes past sunset? I’m a total sucker for tealights.”

“Absolutely, will do,” Morgana made a mental note to herself to find said tealights. “It’ll add a bit of Azorian _hygge_ to the atmosphere, methinks. Oh—and food preferences?”

Macy pondered this for a moment. “How about…fresh vegetables, slow-cooked pork, mango smoothies, guava jam on toast to go with tea, and island-style coconut custard pie?”

“Definitely doable!” Morgana beamed at the pair, then something came to mind. “I have a minor favor to ask, depending on how you’d look at it. Since it coincides with the afternoon I watch a couple of the neighbor kids, can I still have them over? Maya enjoys playing with them, and they’d have fun.”

“That sounds excellent,” Harry interjected. “The more, the merrier.”

“I agree,” said Macy as well, visualizing a festive and cheerful outdoor picnic fete of a French Impressionist sort, the lakes and rivers replaced by the expansive ocean and resplendent breeze, the tables of scrumptious desserts, all in good company, surrounded by their loved ones, young and old.

“ _Lovely_ , especially since I’ve talked to Mel about one of them in particular,” responded Morgana matter-of-factly. “ _Tory._ An orphan girl about five years of age, impish smile, ambiguously magical to some degree.”

“Oh, really?” Macy’s interest was piqued. “I think Harry mentioned Mel and Abigael were looking to adopt—I had no idea it would be this soon—”

“Yes, _well_ ,” Morgana half said to herself. “It probably would have taken longer, had Tory not paid a visit to Mel in front of the Balto statue.”

“ _In Central Park?”_ Macy gasped aloud. “That place is _crowded—_ she could’ve been seen!” Morgana nodded, now wearing a more serious expression.

“So you understand then, why this adoption must be expedited. From my own vantage point, the sooner the child is placed with powerful female witches with a steady guiding hand, the better for everyone involved.”

_9 am, New York Luxury Apartment_

The “ _4-in-1 Malishastik Twin Baby Carrier Adapt”_ product caption listed the item as a chic multi-functional “twins baby carrier, twinsling, twin baby, tandem baby wearing, and tandem carrying” device. _Macy will love this_ , thought Mel, as she made to purchase the item for the baby shower sprinkling. After much brainstorming over the past hour or so, she had come to the conclusion that what Macy really needed above all else was an extra pair of hands (with the number of children soon to outnumber the adults)—and this was the next best thing. _One hundred percent cotton_ , the item description read, with dual carry weight not to exceed a total of 66 pounds. She added an “ _Our Green House”_ -brand twins gift basket, which included two swaddle blankets—white with either pink or blue trim, two organic pajama sets, and two crocheted bunnies—one in pink and the other blue. According to the website, proceeds from this gift basket were to go to a wish-making charity that would “help inspire, strengthen and empower children by making their dreams come true.”

“This could be us someday,” hearing a familiar British-accented voice behind her, Mel turned around and kissed Abigael softly.

“Yes—hopefully sooner rather than later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Product Research Notes:  
> 1\. The blue floral ring description is inspired by VyTvir on Etsy and their "Unique Engagement Ring metal & wood with bells, blue hydrangea, peals, pink orchid, and 24K gold."  
> 2\. The silver diamond orchid ring description is based on Aquamarise's Etsy "Floral Morganite Ring" with 12 CZ petals around a pink morganite center.  
> 3\. The “4-in-1 Malishastik Twin Baby Carrier Adapt” product is indeed a chic multi-functional “twins baby carrier, twinsling, twin baby, tandem baby wearing, and tandem carrying” device.  
> 4\. The "Our Green House”-brand twins gift basket proceeds do, in fact, go toward a wish-making charity that helps "inspire, strengthen and empower children by making their dreams come true.”


	46. R&N: A Little Trust & Fairy Dust

46: R&N: A Little Trust & Fairy Dust

_Noon, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood, Morgana’s Garden_

Abigael and Mel walked uncertainly through the palm tree-encrusted Epicenter Pico neighborhood; they traveled light as their “ _4-in-1 Malishastik Twin Baby Carrier Adapt”_ product and “ _Our Green House”_ gift basket had been delivered to Macy and Harry’s No. 23 doorstep the evening before, courtesy of online delivery. Mel gave her Brazilian-style hat and all-white pantsuit another once-over. “Does this look too formal?”

“Not exactly _child-friendly_ ,” Abigael surveyed her partner’s ensemble critically, “but quite classy, if I dare say so myself.” She, on the other hand, had chosen a 100% cotton tropical leaf printed dress that was durable _and_ chic.

“How is _this_ outfit not child friendly?” Mel groused to herself. “It’s flame-resistant, flame-retardant, washable—”

“And _white_ , my dear,” Abigael interjected. “You’re going to get a stain the moment you enter Morgana’s garden.” After several more minutes, they made their way through a grassy knoll, rounding the corner, and came face-to-face with an open picket fence.

“After _you,”_ Mel gestured deferentially. Abigael hid a smile as she picked up her skirt, walking carefully on the pebbled entrance that gave way to the largest residential garden of fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers either of them had ever seen. The scent of blossoming plumerias hit them nearly as soon as they entered, with a mix of cinnamon bark, citrus, pepper, and mint. Mel noticed a couple of orange trees that bore large spherical orbs of the tangy fruit, and what appeared to be… _tangelos? Grapefruit?_ She wasn’t quite certain, but it made for a very wonderland-like paradise.

_12:05 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood, Morgana’s Garden_

“So lovely of you both to join us!” Mel and Abigael heard Morgana before they saw her familiar coppery, silver-lined hair. The three hugged in turn and Morgana offered them drinks. “Punch? Pineapple juice? Guava lemonade?”

“I think—I’ll just have water for now,” Mel replied, surveying the tropical picnic scene unfolding before her and Abigael’s very eyes. Matias could be spotted in the distance, shredding the slow-cooked pork while Maggie stood ready to assist him in the seasoning process. Harry and Macy were seated and talking to Jordan and a couple of other people Mel didn’t know. She spotted Maya and a few of her little neighbor friends doing artwork on a tiny kiddie-sized table situated next to Harry and Macy’s table.

“Hey Mel, so glad you and Abigael were able to make it!” Macy made as if to stand, but Mel motioned for her to sit and make herself comfortable; it was _her_ baby shower, after all. “Also, thanks for the stylish twin carrier and the gift basket—I know they’ll come in super handy once the twins arrive. Twenty-eight weeks, and however many more to go…”

“Anything for you,” Mel grinned. “So how’s it feel to be in the home stretch?”

“Terrible and wonderful,” replied Macy with a rueful smile. “My spine is stretched to the max, and my core muscles are basically obliterated. My bladder’s the size of a pea. But hey, _life._ Speaking of which—” Macy stated, “ _nature calls._ ” Mel and Abigael instinctively stepped back as Macy lifted her burgeoning form from the picnic chair, watching as she ambled the several feet over to Morgana’s house in search of a vacant restroom.

“Does your wife need any…err… _assistance?_ ” Abigael couldn’t help but ask, seeing Macy walk for the first time in however many weeks she could remember.

Harry shook his head. “No. And actually, my job was to call over Morgana. _Morgana!”_ he flagged the older lady over, who appeared by his side in a jiffy; both of them exchanged a knowing look then regarded Abigael and Mel with an inscrutable expression.

“Harry? Morgana?” Mel and Abigael asked. “ _What’s going on?”_

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Morgana softly said, stepping toward the kiddie table where Maya and her friends were furiously coloring. Harry made up an excuse about needing to check the pulled pork, proceeding in the opposite direction at an uncharacteristically rapid pace. _How odd,_ thought Mel.

_12:10 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood, Morgana’s Garden_

Morgana kneeled next to a small child seated at the kiddie table, whispering in her ear a few times. Mel and Abigael noticed that the girl looked up at Morgana, then at Mel and Abigael in turn. Mel gasped.

“ _It’s her,_ ” Mel murmured in Abigael’s ear.

“Tory?” Abigael verified, her keen eyes now fixed intently on the little olive-hued girl with perfectly-braided hair. _She certainly takes after me when it comes to style,_ Abigael mused, noticing how the girl’s barrettes were identical to her own favorite distinctive color scheme of marble, subdued slate, and sublime greys.

“I think so.” Mel walked forward and kneeled in front of the girl, taking notice of her bright emerald eyes. “I’ve met you before, haven’t I… _Tory_?” The young girl nodded up and down. “Balto sculpture, Central Park, New York City?”

“Yup!” The little girl’s eyes shone. “You remembered me!” she said excitedly.

Abigael looked in askance to Morgana, who finally spoke. “Tory’s a mischievous but well-meaning five-year-old in Maya’s neighborhood playgroup. She lost her parents awhile ago and her aunt’s preoccupied with newborn triplet boys and believes Tory needs a home with a pair of strong-minded magical women.”

_12:12 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood, Morgana’s Garden_

“Strong-minded magical women…” Abigael spoke slowly.

“Like… _us?_ ” Mel added, glancing around to see whether anyone could overhear their conversation; everyone else was merrily chatting away and completely oblivious to the earth-shattering life change that beckoned toward her and her partner.

“Assuming, of course, that you’re up for the roles of a lifetime,” replied Morgana. “For _that_ it certainly will be. Feel free to think about it overnight, and give me a call when you’re ready—”

“ _No,”_ Mel said firmly. “We’re ready _now_ ,” she glanced over at Abigael, who silently affirmed her partner’s statement.

“Well in that case…” Morgana trailed off. “When the baby shower ends later today, I’ll have a word with Tory’s aunt; we’ll sign a bit of paperwork and you two will foster Tory for a week-long trial period. If all goes according to plan, you may adopt her as your very own daughter.”

Mel and Abigael reached for each other’s hands with bated breath, hardly daring to believe their luck.

_9 pm, New York City Luxury Apartment, Guest Bedroom_

The two women stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, with its tall four-poster bed, Egyptian high-thread count sheets, and gigantic down pillows, gazing at its solo inhabitant, a tiny girl with rainbow unicorn-printed pajamas who was peacefully sleeping with a contented smile spread across her Shirley Temple-like dimpled cheeks.

“We must be the only ones in the world to go to a baby shower and leave with a kindergartener daughter in tow,” Mel laughed aloud.

Abigael poked Mel in the ribs. “ _Shhh—she’s sleeping!”_ Mel appeared apologetic, mouthing _Sorry!_

The two continued to watch Tory’s sleeping form, her chest rising and falling, her steadfast, determined little heart beating within their cozy urban home. Two women and a girl under a single roof created an instant, ready-made family reunited at long last after the most serendipitous of circumstances.

“Welcome home Tory,” Mel whispered, as Abigael quietly closed the bedroom door.


	47. HM2V: Push Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter depicts Macy's twins' birth via C-section. It's not graphic, but just letting folks know by way of FYI.

47: HM2V: Push Present

_5 pm, Five Weeks Later, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

“Overnight bag?” asked Macy, reading through her “childbirth go-bag checklist.”

“ _Check_.”

“Hospital paperwork, ID, insurance card?”

“ _Check.”_

“Though I might add,” Macy remarked offhandedly, “that childbirth is free in Portugal, and we just gotta bring the _Boletim de Sa_ _úde da Gr_ _ávida_ with us when we check in. But I always believe in being prepared, y’know. Just in case.”

“ _Roger that.”_ Harry reached over and gave Macy’s expansive tummy a soft rub for luck.

“Fuzzy slippers and bathrobe?”

“ _Check and check.”_

“Massage oil? Ear plugs? Lip balm? Fuzzy socks?”

“ _Check to all of the above.”_

“I think we’re set then,” Macy finally unpeeled her eyes from the checklist.

“Just a minute—” Harry said. “I have a little something for you. Close your eyes.” He reached in his pocket for a small flat black velvet jewelry box.

“Oh Harry, you shouldn’t have…” murmured Macy, her eyes still closed as he clasped the necklace around her swan-like neck.

“ _Open your eyes._ ”

Macy did so slowly, peering at her reflection using her cell phone camera. “Harry,” she gasped aloud. “It’s _beautiful—_ how did you—and _what is it?_ ” Her fingers touched the three beads on the sterling silver necklace.

“Three beads each symbolizing each of our children, present and future,” Harry said simply. “The pony with the gemstone eye represents Maya and her potential path as leader and future attorney ( _if Abigael has anything to say about it_ ). The feather quill charm with its gem represents our future son Henry, who might potentially be of a philosopher sort ( _only time will tell_ ). Finally, last but not least, is the tiny flame with the gemstone in its middle, representing Matilda, the one who may have a potential affinity for fire.”

“ _Maya, Henry, and Matilda”_ Macy murmured to herself. It slowly dawned on her that last week, she had been a parent to one daughter, and at the end of this week, she would suddenly find herself the mother of two girls and a boy. They had decided on British-sounding names this time around, as they had planned to alternate as each child was born. Maya’s name was borrowed from that of Maya Angelou, the pen name of one of Macy’s favorite African American female writers. Harry had been partial to the name “Henry,” which meant “ruler of the home”—a most strong-sounding, yet altogether sweet, moniker. “Matilda” was derived from German and meant “battle-mighty,” which Macy and Harry agreed sounded appropriate for a baby destined to be one with fire. They kept to the tradition of girl names beginning with the letter “M” and Henry’s name began with the letter “H,” a silent homage to his father Harry.

“I’ll orb Maya to Mel’s for the planned two-day sleepover,” Harry shifted the topic of conversation. “She’ll have so much fun with Abigael, Mel, and Tory, and it’ll be fun introducing them to two new little ones once all this comes together.”

“ _Agreed,”_ Macy replied, already exhausted from having carried twice the normal weight of _enceinte_. She reached for her phone. _Mel, Harry’s dropping Maya off STAT._

 _Got it_ , the reply came near-instantaneously with a _ping_.

Harry proceeded upstairs to gather Maya in his arms along with her sleepover bag, departing with a telltale _pop_.

_6:10 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Macy paced around the condo. _What was taking Harry so long to return?_ She’d already called Morgana, who was waiting for them at the hospital, luckily minutes from their home—one of the perks of living on a tiny island.

 _Pop_. Macy whirled around. _Harry._ “Hurry up, Morgana’s waiting for us at the hospital! Scheduled C-sections are nothing to sniff at—”

Harry spent the next seconds catching his breath. “My sincerest apologies, love,” he said, kissing the top of her forehead. “Maya was having a mini-meltdown at the very last minute before I left. I had to calm her down and assuage her she’s still Daddy’s little princess.”

Macy frowned. “Is she alright?”

“Now that she’s parked in front of the telly watching two Disney movies about a couple of Swedish princesses and an animatronic snowman, _I believe so_. Though the last ten minutes were a tad touch and go. Honestly, I think it was exhaustion coupled with a sudden change in routine, more than anything else.”

“Ok.” Macy regarded her hospital bag, the living room couch, the kitchen, the door to the spiral staircase leading to the three bedrooms above. The twins’ rooms were fully ready for its young inhabitants, crib, décor, and all. Enough meals had been prepped and frozen in advance of the twins’ delivery, and Maya was in the loving hands of her aunts and cousin Tory. “Let’s do this,” she whispered as Harry offered her his arm, hospital bag in hand, as they proceeded to orb to the local hospital.

_7 pm, Azores, Ponta Delgada Hospital, Department of Neonatology, Surgical Room_

Macy gasped aloud. _An icy sensation hit Macy’s insides, causing an instantaneous bodily chill spreading throughout her abdominal region, upon the anesthesiologist’s injection into her spine with regional anesthesia, a surgical blanket covering her in the barest attempt at modesty. She recalled disrobing into a surgical paper gown fifteen minutes earlier, her bare legs hanging over the table ever-so-slightly, as though for a second, this were nothing more than a run-of-the-mill annual doctor’s visit. But she knew better. Clutching Harry’s hand tightly, she willed herself to stay strong—to not cry—as she heard the surgeons’ blades making punctuated incisions onto her bare, rotund skin. The anesthesiologist had done his job quite well; Macy felt a set of peculiar pushing and pulling sensations, imagining the surgeons to be shifting her stomach and other organs around. ‘Hey Todd, hand me a kidney, will ya?’ she imagined them saying in jest. Or not—she wasn’t entirely sure at this point. She ought to have been, considering she took human biology and anatomy early in her college career. Though she hadn’t received the best marks in her class, she had nevertheless excelled on her own merit. Her thoughts raced despite her repeated attempts at slow, soothing breaths._

_It was too quiet._

_Perhaps the surgeons hadn’t fully finished yet? She noticed that Harry, intrigued by the laborious, longstanding, abdominal efforts, had curiously peered under the covers and immediately paled. She could tell he regretted looking, and Macy couldn’t help but stifle a laugh despite the fact her insides were likely taking a thorough pummeling. She knew the aftereffects of stretched muscular tissue and shorn ligaments would make themselves known in the weeks to follow. Macy always thought that childbirth involved a baby exiting the birth canal amidst a maternal wave of pain, followed by tears and gentle caresses. She never once imagined being put under the knife. From all she learned of her human biology and anatomy course and various online mommy blogs, did this count as ‘childbirth’ per se?_

_It was then her brain’s literary prowess recalled a quote from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. “Despair thy harm!...Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.” Act five, scene eight, lines 17-20 if she wasn’t mistaken. Childbirth, she now understood, came in a sheer variety of forms, of which mothers reigned supreme in their maternal power. Goddesses all around. Maybe this explained the millennial proliferation of push presents._

_Macy’s thoughts were interrupted as the surgical team, under Morgana’s supervision, exercised heightened efforts toward Macy’s insides, orchestrating a final pushing and pulling, until two bawling infants could be heard in the background, with the barest hint of a fiery set of orange sparks which went unnoticed by everyone except Macy, Harry, and Morgana._

The newborns were promptly weighed, cleaned up, placed in hospital blankets, and given to Macy and Harry to hold. The boy, Henry, was already asleep, quiet and contemplative. Matilda continued to squirm and fuss, as her fingers grasped Harry’s own.

“Welcome to the world, Henry Thomas and Matilda Marcella Valensi. _Welcome little ones,”_ Harry murmured through his tears, repeatedly kissing his wife Macy. _“Wonderful job, love.”_


	48. R&N: Princess Whirling Dervishes

48: R&N: Princess Whirling Dervishes

_7 pm, Azores, Ponta Delgada Hospital, Department of Neonatology, Surgical Room_

“Welcome to the world, Henry Thomas and Matilda Marcella Valensi. _Welcome little ones,”_ Harry murmured through his tears, repeatedly kissing his wife Macy. _“Wonderful job, love.”_

_9 am, Next Morning, New York Luxury Apartment, Master Bedroom_

_The sound of multiple basketballs bouncing on an oaken floor. Or was it the relentlessly pelting rain of the Amazon? The girls_ , Abigael realized, slowly gaining consciousness as the rapid _pitter-pattering_ sound gravitated up the stairs, growing louder by the second. To her left, Mel was completely and utterly conked out, having chased after the two rambunctious little girls hopped up on sugar the night before. _Two girls who had decided to bring her dark pony Midnight to life and ride it around the living room when Mel turned her back for the barest of seconds. Was this what having multiple children was like, with the amplified chaos of whirling dervishes that devoured everything in their path? She recalled Harry mentioning in passing that Maya was on a sugar-free organic diet; perhaps this was why._

She groaned, removing her black silk sleeping mask precisely at the moment when the two giggling little girls made a running leap for the lofty bed, landing with a _THUMP_.

“G’morning Auntie—Mummy—Mum Mel—Aunt Mel!” The enthusiastic girls talked over each other, rapid-fire, as Abigael attempted to collect her thoughts. “What’s for breakfast?”

Abigael looked again at her partner’s sleeping form. _Blast_. _Her turn to feed the dervishes then_ , though she smiled to herself. As anarchic as her lovelies were, she couldn’t help but feel a certain undeniable fondness toward them both that grew by the day. She sluggishly reached for her Japanese silk bathrobe and slid her padded slippers on. Both girls reached for her hands, pulling her behind them as they led her through the hallway, back down the stairs, and toward the kitchen, where Abigael had meticulously set out ingredients for what she termed “Princess Toast.”

_9:45 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Kitchen_

_Purple._ Abigael’s hair was streaked _purple_ , thanks to the coconut milk jam that had organic beet and blueberry coloring. She glanced across the Ashford table to the two girls, who were contentedly chatting at the top of their lungs while munching on their Princess Toast—fresh whole grain bread with purple coconut milk jam, white edible pearl sugar beads, edible gold glitter sprinkles, frozen berries, mint garnish, topped with a tiny dollop of honey. “Girls, _please_ —inside voices!” Abigael exclaimed, and the two girls lowered their volume by several notches, still continuing to chat amongst themselves about the thermodynamic horsepower of Midnight the pony. _That’s better._

“Morning, my Iris—” she felt Mel envelop her in a hug from behind, her dark hair as tussled as ever.

“Morning, Cricket _,_ ” Abigael replied, trying to stifle yet another yawn. “How’d you sleep?”

“ _Like the dead_ ,” Mel groggily replied, though softly smiling.

“I made some extra toast—” Abigael pushed a plate of purple coconut jam toast covered in shiny sprinkles. “Maya added the pearl sugar, and Tory added honey.”

“Aw, _sweeties_ ,” Mel regarded Tory and Maya both. “Thanks for breakfast!”

“You’re welcome!” the girls giggled, looking at each other then back up at Mel and Abigael.

_9:59 am, New York Luxury Apartment_

After everyone had breakfasted, the next order of business was having the little girls run about at Central Park. Since it was the weekend, there weren’t many other people out and about this early. _And a very good thing that was too,_ Abigael thought to herself, recalling last night’s race to Balto Sculpture, in which Tory had popped over to the sculpture directly while Maya, testing her orbing skills, ended up soaked in the middle of Bethesda Fountain, shivering to no end.

Abigael had given them both a very stern talking to, and the girls had seemed sufficiently contrite, so she and Mel decided to give them another chance ( _granted, this was before Maya set Midnight the pony loose in the condo much later in the evening, which Mel blamed on her own momentary distractedness). Nevertheless, a promise was a promise._ Plus, the girls were more likely to cause more damage and injury to themselves inside of doors than outside. As a safety precaution, Abigael gave them each a piece of “grown-up Aunt Abby jewelry” to wear of their choosing.

Maya had chosen a tiny pearl ring that she wore threaded through a child-sized sterling silver bracelet. Tory wore dainty pale green pearl stud earrings that matched her eyes. Doing so would dampen their innate magical abilities, assuming they kept the jewelry on their person; Abigael and Mel had repeatedly emphasized the importance of secrecy in using their abilities, but the jewelry was a last resort and safety measure, since the girls were so young with such volatile powers.

“ _Girls_ ,” said Mel sensibly. “We are going to Central Park now—no _popping_ there, _orbing_ , _disappearing_ , _snapping_ your fingers there, no _telepathic_ transport, no _magical pony-riding there_ , et cetera.”

“Then how will we get there, Mum Mel?” asked Tory innocently, though Abigael detected a mischievous expression in the girl’s eyes.

“By _walking_ , my little dervishes,” Mel broke composure with a small chuckle. _Things are so different_ _nowadays,_ she thought to herself. _Small magical children feel no need to hide from their true selves. Which was a wonderful thing_ , she mused, _unless of course you attracted the wrong sort of attention, such as from law enforcement._ “It’s _only_ fifteen minutes from here. When I was a young girl, I had to walk _thirty_ whole blocks to get to Central Park—no magic at all.”

“ _Wow…_ ” the two girls fixated on her words, eyes wide, impressed at Mel’s stamina.

_10:15 am, Central Park, Balto Sculpture_

Mel heard a _ping_ from her phone. _Harry._ She hurriedly unlocked the phone and read his message.

_Twins, a boy and a girl. Mum and babies doing swimmingly. :)_

She grinned, chasing after Maya and Tory, who had begun following the grey-pink park pigeons a little too closely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Princess Toast" was partly inspired by the Nature Made vitamin gummies commercial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfZfVTIcDTQ.


	49. R&N: Sushi & Siblings

49: R&N: Sushi & Siblings

_10:15 am, Central Park, Balto Sculpture_

Mel heard a _ping_ from her phone. _Harry._ She hurriedly unlocked the phone and read his message.

_Twins, a boy and a girl. Mum and babies doing swimmingly. :)_

She grinned, chasing after Maya and Tory, who had begun following the grey-pink park pigeons a little too closely.

_11:30 am, Next Day, New York Luxury Apartment_

“And I’ll have one delivery order each of softshell crab sushi, California roll, salmon roll, _oh_ and—” Abigael spoke into the phone, glancing at her two little charges, “…an order of Hello Kitty sushi roll, if you have it. _Yes,_ the one with codfish and potato. We’re in a bit of a hurry. Thanks.” She ended the call, finally looking up from her phone.

“Aunt Abi, why’re you ordering so much food?” Maya furrowed her brow, appearing rather skeptical at this turn of events.

“Well…” Abigael kneeled, meeting Maya’s eyes. “Your baby brother and sister have been born, and we’re all paying them a visit this afternoon! You’re a big sister,” Abigael finished, hugging Maya tightly, who hugged her right back.

“Wow,” the little girl murmured. “ _Will they like me?”_ she whispered.

“I most certainly think they will,” answered Mel affectionately, walking over from the living room where she and Tory had been drawing on construction paper for the past hour. “Why don’t you make a card for them, and your mom and dad, welcoming them into the family?”

“Ok, Aunt Mel, will do.” Maya trotted over to the living room table, her dark hazel-gold curls bouncing all the while as she dutifully set to work on her newest artistic creation.

_3 pm, Azores, Ponta Delgada Hospital, Department of Neonatology, Patient Room_

The foursome landed squarely within Macy’s private hospital room, having been provided highly detailed directions by way of Harry an hour before. Abigael was the first to speak. “ _Sushi_ , for the mother,” she stated, retrieving the containers and chopsticks from the plastic bags. “I know you’ve been craving this for the better part of a year. I brought a variety, so we can all picnic here with you.”

“ _Oh my gosh,”_ breathed Macy, “…thanks _so_ much,” she said, juggling two cloth-wrapped bundles in each of her willowy arms.

“Mommy, I made you a card!” Maya shrieked, showing Macy the construction paper drawing she’d made earlier of themselves, plus a little boy and girl. “It’s to welcome my little brother and sister into the family.”

“Oh, love, that’s so thoughtful,” Harry ruffled Maya’s curls from where he sat, perching her on his lap. “Speaking of which—I’ll allow Macy to do the introductions—”

Macy nodded, displaying two tiny bundles at last. “The one on the left is Henry Thomas, our little boy. He’s a quiet little thinker.” Indicating the bundle on her right, she spoke, “this one’s Matilda Marcella, a fierce, determined baby girl.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Henry and Matilda,” Maya whispered, as she reached a finger out for their tiny hands to grab ahold.

_3:20 pm, Azores, Ponta Delgada Hospital, Department of Neonatology, Patient Room_

Not wanting to overstay their welcome, Mel collected the utensils and empty containers, disposing of them in the nearby trashcans. Later the next day, Maggie and Jordan would meet Macy and Harry and help them all get settled at Vera Manor, then eventually Epicenter Pico No. 23 once Macy’s stitches were sufficiently healed.

Maya and Tory were quietly coloring their construction paper artwork in a corner of the room now, and Abigael was rather sure Macy could use additional rest. However, just before the four were about to pick up their things and leave, Macy stopped them. “ _Abigael_ ,” she murmured from the hospital bed. “Would you and Mel be Henry and Matilda’s godparents?”

Abigael paused, biting her lip. “ _Really?_ As in, really, _really_?” she whispered. Macy nodded.

“Yes, _really,_ ” Macy replied louder, with certainty. “I’ve seen how you’ve tutored Maya all those weeks ago and how she’s improved her magical defense and riding skills, thanks entirely to you. She _adores_ spending time with Tory and looks to her as an older sister and role model.”

Mel tried not to exchange glances with Abigael, recalling in vivid detail the pony-riding, fountain-drenching, and sugar high-squealing that had taken place in the past seventy-two hours; somehow Mel managed to maintain a straight face.

“Abigael, you and Mel both have molded these girls into bright stars of the future, _mischief notwithstanding_ ,” Macy regarded her own daughter fondly, with a rather bemused expression. _She totally knew what we’d be up against,_ Mel realized, as she laughed to herself. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Abigael’s eyes fixed on Mel’s approving expression. “Yes,” she uttered, placing a sylph-like arm around Mel’s shoulders. “We’d love to be their godparents, wouldn’t we?”

“Yup,” Mel chimed in. “I mean, it’s only fair, since Maggie’s Maya’s godmother— _spread the love and all—_ ” which garnered a good-natured laugh from the rest of the adults present.

_9 pm, New York Luxury Apartment, Tory’s Bedroom_

Mel and Abigael dotingly regarded the two small girls currently snoring on Tory’s four-poster bed. They had renamed the “guest bedroom” as “Tory’s bedroom” since the adoption was made official a few weeks ago; even though Tory had briefly met them once or twice beforehand, somehow it felt as though this girl had always been a part of their lives. The girls’ drawings lay scattered about; as Mel picked one up, she recognized her own dark hair, Abigael’s chestnut brown hair, and Tory’s own neat braids and trademark green eyes. Further down the page were Macy, Harry, and Maya, Maggie and Jordan, Morgana and Matias. The two newest arrivals to the Valensi family were indicated by the bundles in Macy and Harry’s arms. “My family,” Tory had written. _Indeed._


	50. R&N: Montparnasse, Topaz, Louboutin…Love

50: R&N: Montparnasse, Topaz, Louboutin…Love

_9 pm, New York Luxury Apartment, Tory’s Bedroom_

The two newest arrivals to the Valensi family were indicated by the bundles in Macy and Harry’s arms. “My family,” Tory had written. _Indeed._

_5:43 am, Three Days Later, New York Luxury Apartment, Master Bedroom_

The melody of an original Melanija Paradis song gently floated upward to the lofty master bedroom, where it was immediately detected by Abigael’s sharp ears as she sprang upright in bed, jolted out of her slumber. Removing her silken sleeping mask, she stared around in the darkness for several prolonged seconds. Preternaturally a light sleeper, she had only become more so after the sudden arrival of Tory, her little firebrand of a pixie, and her accompanying antics and escapades. As Abigael’s eyes slowly adjusted, she glanced over her shoulder in Mel’s direction, as if to say, _do you hear the music too?_ Only to find an empty space and a tiny envelope. Curious, she opened it:

_Meet me for a sunrise dance in ten minutes. -M_

Abigael stifled a yawn, then another, her eyebrows raised. _What could be the meaning of this?_ She couldn’t remember the last time they had time for such frivolity—but perhaps that was the point of this sunrise dance, to become better acquainted with each other once more, especially after becoming first-time parents to a high-energy child.

_5:45 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Master Bedroom_

She checked her timepiece. _Eight minutes until the event_. Abigael hurriedly stumbled to her dress closet, reaching for the nearest piece of clothing she could find, a royal blue _Kiki de Montparnasse_ plush asymmetric paneled velvet and silk-chiffon dress from Net-a-Porter.

Glancing at the bottom of the adjoining shoe rack, Abigael grabbed her _Silver Iriza_ Christian Louboutins, her precious-yet-durable metallic, scintillating, sparkling leather high heel shoes. Custom-made in Italy in an aesthetically pleasing d’Orsay profile, they had artfully-crafted pointed toes and matched just about every article of clothing she had, whether it was casual, chic, or ballroom—important especially now as she often found herself chasing Tory down the condo’s countless hallways, or through Eataly in New York City’s Flatiron District ( _after she made the mistake of giving Tory a slice of Nutella “pizza” for dessert—thick Italian oven-baked bread slathered in warm chocolate hazelnut spread and garnished with marshmallows and mint leaves). Never again._ It was then she realized the amplified impact sugar had on a child’s rapidly fast-acting metabolism.

_5:48 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Master Bedroom_

_Austere black onyx or multi-tonal blue topaz?_ Abigael regarded the two distinct bracelets with a critical eye. She’d never been summoned before her girlfriend at 5:53 in the morning for a sunrise reverie before, so she knew she had to make this count. _Maybe then,_ she thought to herself, _there would be more dances of this sort, in secret, between the shadows of dusk and dawn._ She plucked the topaz bracelet and clasped it around her left wrist, its ocean grey-blue and pale sky-blue hues glittering from the light pouring through beneath the towering bedroom door.

_5:50 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Stairway_

_Breathe,_ she admonished herself furiously, gathering her skirts in one arm, holding the stair railing in her other hand, as she made her way down the stairs to the living room where her Cricket was waiting. _Why were her hands shaking so? Why was her heart racing as if it were powered by a surge of Astrape and Bronte’s lightening?_ It was most curious to her that of every life experience she had to date, including fighting off nefarious forces and negotiating amongst the worst of them ( _to the death, oftentimes_ ), that her hands would be trembling at the thought of approaching her dearly beloved before the sun’s very rising.

 _It's just a silly dance,_ she told herself sternly. _There’s nowt to get your hope about, so you’d best behave,_ she mentally chided herself in the Sussex slang of her youth, the topaz blue from her bracelet reflecting upon the expansive condo walls, its hues leaping from one edge of the modern interior to the other, as if in a trance distinctively its own.

_5:52 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Living Room Entrance_

Abigael checked the time. _One minute_. _One minute,_ she contemplated inwardly, massaging her head while trying to acclimate herself to being awake this early.

_Time enough to dash up the loft stairs, disrobe her Kiki de Montparnasse gown in entirety, remove her multi-tonal topaz bracelet, shake off her Louboutins, and dive straight for the bumbling, ambient comfort of their shared intimate bed._

_Time enough to bury her head under her plump goose-feather down pillow and pretend that everything would stay exactly the same, that loving her Cricket was more than enough._

_Time enough to guard her heart and pretend that she didn’t want a wedding ceremony with her favorite gown, surrounded by the family she had come to know and love. Her family, if she wanted it that way._

_Time enough to flee, if she was terrified enough of the feelings she had in the deepest regions of her wayward heart._

But— _no,_ she told herself, thinking of their time spent mixing potions years ago, when she had disappeared without a trace, only to reappear once more much later to the consternation of many.

_This time, she wouldn’t run._

_5:53 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Living Room_

And there she was, _her_ _Cricket_ , dressed in an undeniably chic V-neck three-quarter sleeve above-the-knee gold-sequined cocktail gown, shifting her feet every now and again, a shy smile painted on those claret maroon lips of hers. Abigael’s prior thoughts of fleeing vanished instantaneously as she took a step forward toward the marble flooring, another, and then _another_ after that, until she was exactly dance partner width’s apart from her lovely partner in crime.

“Shall we?” Mel switched on a song from her phone’s playlist, then reached for Abigael’s hands.

“ _With pleasure_ ,” responded Abigael, laying her head atop Mel’s gently sloping shoulder.

Two lilting female soprano voices could be heard, with guitar accompaniment in what sounded like a slow ( _Indie? Country? Both?)_ love song. _How odd,_ Abigael mused to herself. _Mel doesn’t do slow indie if she can normally help it._

The two women danced together facing the rising sun, with its passionate vermillion shades, meshing, _intermingling_ , _fusing_ with overtones of tempestuous marine, cornflower, Egyptian, Azure, and electric blues with a fiery hint of ochre juxtaposed within, for a magnificent symphony for the senses… _and the soul._ The lyrics went something like this:

_Your chestnut hair and your devious flare_

_I got my arms ‘round you Iris, with nary a care—_

_Will you be mine, forever and a day,_

_Will we toast with wine on our wedding day?_

_Take my hand and hold it ever-so-near,_

_Oh my darling dear, will you be mine?_

_Just us three, our crazy family, so tell me—_

The music stilled as Mel knelt on one knee and pulled out a tiny velvet ring box hidden in her pocket. “Will you, Abigael Jameson-Caine, marry me?”

 _Oh sweet mother of Hera—was this really happening?_ In those seconds, Abigael’s life with Mel flashed before her very eyes—the moment she had purposely left Mel incarcerated in the underground dungeon, Mel’s eyes flashing in righteous, simmering anger through the iron bars; their serene weekend potion exploits in which they caused colors and consistencies to emerge in enchanted formation in the attic and kitchen of Vera Manor; their sixty weekends of virtual celibacy, tension, and innate discovery; and how their daughter had brought out their mothering tendencies, which she herself had never realized were there all along, latent, waiting for the fated interstellar constellations to align. She wondered whether marriage would mean endangering Mel and their daughter but knew that Mel’s Charmed One powers and Tory’s energy could outlast a nefarious being any day.

At last, Abigael re-entered the present. She looked down at Mel, noticing at once that Mel’s own fingers were trembling around the tiny box. _She wasn’t the only one scared out of her mind, then._ Abigael pulled her girlfriend up to stand before her, whispering an imperceptible “ _yes.” “Yes!”_ she said, louder this time, as Mel shakily kissed her in an aura of thrilled disbelief, placing the gorgeous floral-inspired diamond-and-morganite ring on her slender left ring finger.

“I love you when we’re tired in the morning with our hair askew,” Mel began. “I love that you bring out the best in me, I love that you challenge me in a way nobody ever has—weaponized pearls, Midnight pony, and all—and I want to spend every moment of forever—with _you_ ,” she murmured in Abigael’s ear, as they twirled around slowly, before falling in a heap onto the nearby living room sofa.

_6:20 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Living Room_

Once they regained their composure, Abigael brought Mel’s fingers to her lips, alternately kissing and caressing them tenderly with her own. “ _Do you know the moment I knew you were it_?” Abigael whispered softly, in the words of writer Beau Taplin. Mel shook her head, as Abigael continued her rumination, stroking Mel’s hair as they peered out the window to the now tangerine-hued, sultry, sun-drenched horizon. “It was when I showed you the darkest parts of me and instead of running away, you rolled out a blanket, lay down on your back and pointed out the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know the moment I knew you were it? It was when I showed you the darkest parts of me and instead of running away, you rolled out a blanket, lay down on your back and pointed out the stars.” -Beau Taplin, writer


	51. H2M3V: All The Pretty Horses

51: H2M3V: All The Pretty Horses

_“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.”_

_-All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy_

_9 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

Macy finished the second feeding in as many hours, buttoning up her billowy blouse once more; she handed Henry to Harry, who placed the infant alongside Matilda in the dual carrier that Mel had gifted them awhile ago at the baby shower. Her index finger ran across her C-section scar, a horizontal parenthetical mark running along the margin of her lower ribcage onto the base of her abdominal wall. As soon as the little family had been settled at Vera Manor (and soon after, their Epicenter Pico No. 23 condo), Harry had whisked Macy into a bedroom, ( _which one, she wasn’t quite sure—the entire week had been a haze_ ), offering to remove the several inches-long scarring, should she desire, his hands barely hovering millimeters from her bare skin.

“ _No,_ Harry,” she recalled herself saying resolutely. “Don’t remove a thing.”

“Are—are you sure, love?” Harry asked. “I want to be absolutely certain that this scarring isn’t injuring you in any way, shape, or form—I want to spare you of any excess bleeding—to keep you safe—”

Macy laughed. “There’s no harm in keeping it where it is, and every bit of harm if you _do_ remove it.”

“How do you mean?” Harry pursed his kissable lips in a button-like formation.

“To _me,_ ” responded Macy, “I wear this C-section scar as a badge of honor—that I am capable of birthing your children. It’s my mythical _Rose Line,_ my _Paris Meridian_ , the sunlight parameter of the Gnomon of Saint-Sulpice. It represents how I became a mother once more, and the future that is yet to come.”

“Very well,” said Harry, removing his hands from her lower abdomen. “ _I was hoping you’d say that,”_ he murmured in her ear.

“ _What?_ ” Macy exclaimed. “I thought—”

“I wanted to do a thorough job as a Whitelighter, but as your husband, I _heartily_ approve your decision.”

_9:05 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed_

Just then, a thick package landed in the she-shed mail chute with an enormous _THUNK_. Curious, Macy retrieved the package, using both hands, and Harry helped her move it to the sturdy wooden table facing them both. _Zoological Scripta_ , it read in the sender’s address. _University of Oslo, Natural History Museum, Department of Zoology, P.O. Box 1172 Blindern, 0318, Oslo, Norway._

Macy drew in a sharp breath and met Harry’s eyes. “Well?” Harry attempted to defuse the mounting suspense, as he moved from side to side, methodically burping the infants. “Aren’t you going to open that, love?”

“ _You_ open it, Harry—I can’t take another rejection,” Macy said, shoving the enormous package a few inches in Harry’s direction, but Harry shook his head.

“That’s hardly fair to you, Macy, you’ve worked so hard—it’s time to see the… _fruit of your labor_ ,” he answered, his eyes twinkling at his attempt at naughty puns. Macy stubbornly shook her head, her curls whirling in every direction as she did so. “ _I think I know where Maya’s three-nager phase came from_ ,” he muttered under his breath. “How about this—I open the package, but _you_ retrieve the letter within?”

Macy mulled this over for the next thirty seconds, then agreed, watching as Harry took a letter opener from the table, neatly slitting the sealed bundle open; he pulled out a plain, unmarked envelope which he handed to his wife. “For _you_ , love.”

Her hands trembled as she took the envelope from her husband’s hands. _Packages are more promising than thin, sparse envelopes, right?_ But another stab of self-doubt pricked at her senses. _What if the publication journal sent this package as spam? As a consolation prize? What if, after all these years, you’re destined to ignominy, forgotten by everyone in your chosen profession? What if you never become a renowned scientist?_ She stared down at the white envelope, then back at her husband, whose lips were curled upwards at their corners ever-so-slightly.

_I have a loving, devoted Whitelighter husband, my darling Maya, and have just been blessed with two healthy magical twin babies._

_I’ve fought my way through life._

_I’ve vanquished countless evil entities._

_I can do this._

Macy grasped the letter opener, neatly tearing the perimeter of the one-dimensional rectangle, plucking a form letter from the insides. The letter read as follows:

\------------------------------------------------

_Congratulations, Dr. Valensi!_

_We at Zoologica Scripta are delighted to notify you that your final published article is now on Zoologica Scripta’s online portal. On behalf of the Norwegian Academy of Sciences & Letters and the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, we thank you for your contribution._

_Sincerely,_

_-(name of chief editor)-_

_Zoologica Scripta, Kungl Vetenskaps Akademien_

\-------------------------------------------------

“Macy?” Harry drew nearer, noticing that Macy’s hand holding the letter had frozen mid-air, her expression utterly inscrutable; _was she frowning in abject shock?_ _Astonished? Disappointed? Surprised?_ “Are you alright?”

What came forth from Macy was something vaguely sounding like a squeak. Unable to speak, she thrust the letter in front of Harry, whose concerned expression immediately transformed into one of absolute elation. “Love, I’m _so_ proud of you!” he exclaimed, then lowered his voice, realizing in the excitement that the twins were still strapped to his chest, drifting off to post-prandial sleep.

_7 pm, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Kitchen_

Macy was still skating on the high from earlier that day, and even more since Mel had texted her a picture of Abigael’s engagement ring. _Guess what?_ Macy read the text, grinning so hard her face hurt, displaying it at dinner to Maya and Harry to see despite their “no phones at the table” rule. _This was definitely an exception_ , she convinced herself, as she admired the twelve marquise lab-grown diamonds encircling the damask pink morganite stone.

If the proposal had happened any earlier than when it did, _say, a year ago_ —Macy would have portaled over to Abigael’s condo, banging on the front door with her fist during the wee hours of the morning, screaming at the woman not to defile her middle-born sister. As it were, Macy was glad she had taken the time to get to know Abigael and implicitly understood that Tory was incredibly lucky to have such powerful and kind women as her parents and lifelong mentors.

_9 pm, One Week Later, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Maya’s Bedroom_

_Maya’s bedtime._ Macy recalled her earlier conversation with Morgana about potentially dampening Maya’s powers for her own safety, after having pried the story out of her daughter of how she’d accidentally orbed herself into Central Park’s Bethesda Fountain. If anyone had seen her use her quick-fire abilities that she herself had not fully mastered yet, the magical world would have been exposed and everyone’s lives immediately endangered.

She knew that Tory’s powers combined with Maya’s could easily take down a large city, and from what Maya had told her, Abigael was fully aware and had taken it upon herself to give Tory jewelry to dampen said effects from fully materializing. Before becoming a mother, Macy thought that she would give her children full control of their powers, believing that finding out about her own in college, then later discovering her sisters’ existence, buried beneath a web of secrets, was a terrible way to live. But that was then.

 _Now, she only thought of her children’s safety_.

Macy had consulted with Morgana on the matter, who connected her to a wide variety of magical child psychologists and therapists. The consensus was that temporarily dampening a child’s volatile abilities was for their own safety and perfectly normal, analogous to how non-magical children wore glasses to avoid tripping down sidewalks, or braces to correct misaligned teeth and jaw structure.

One of the magical child psychologists had, in turn, referred her to a jeweler, who created three unique pendants for each of her children to match the push present Harry had gifted her months before—a pony for Maya, a feather for Henry, and a flame for Matilda. Each of these worn by the children on a silver chain would keep them safe, and if they ever broke or were otherwise removed, Macy’s own necklace would vibrate as a form of instant notification.

She decided that Maya would be the first recipient. Macy disclosed her plan to Harry, who was surprisingly amenable—possibly because she was still recovering from C-section stitches, while parenting a soon-to-be four-year-old plus two newborns. “Safety first,” she recalled him saying.

Macy and Harry faced their little girl, whose hands rested on the bedtime story she wished for them to read to her. “Sweetie,” Macy said. “I have a present for you,” as she beckoned Harry forward to clasp the delicate silver chain around his little girl’s neck.

“Thank you, mommy and daddy!” Maya chirped aloud. “It’s a pony,” she said wonderingly, turning the tiny pendant around in the tiny palm of her hand.

“That’s right,” responded Macy, “same as mine,” she said, showing Maya the push present Harry had given earlier—three tiny pendants on a chain, the first being a tiny pony. _Be honest with her_ , she told herself, biting her lip. “Thing is, Maya—” she stopped as Harry laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Choosing her words carefully, she continued, “it’s a magical necklace that will keep you safe. Remember when you orbed into Bethesda Fountain and how scared you were?” Maya nodded, her eyes growing wide at the unpleasant recollection of being soaked to the bone. “Well, this necklace will stop that from happening.”

Ruffling Maya’s curls affectionately, Harry stepped closer, adding “this will let you do magic appropriate for your age—no more, no less. This will keep you, your brother and sister, mommy and daddy and everyone else, safe. When you’re older, you’ll learn how to better control your magic.”

Several long minutes passed by. Maya surveyed the pony pendant then looked back up at her parents. “ _Does this mean no more Midnight pony_?” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling despite herself.

Macy laughed aloud. _Kids_. “Sweetie, you can still ride your pony in Vera Manor Garden and play with Aunt Abigael’s Midnight pony— _only if she gives you permission_. Do you understand?” Maya nodded, appearing altogether relieved that her equestrian lessons hadn’t come to an abrupt halt.

 _Ok, that wasn’t so bad,_ Macy thought to herself as Harry reached for Maya’s book. “How about we read you your bedtime story?” she asked her daughter gently, who smiled and bade her parents begin. Harry and Macy proceeded to sit on the edge of their daughter’s bed, as Harry opened the book to the first page.

“A child’s retelling of “Jimmy & Darcy of Tessera Jazz Club” from “ _On Lorenz Theory & Love_,” abridged and compiled by Melanija Paradis,” Harry read aloud. “ _Excellent_ choice, love.”


	52. R&N: Badgley Beholden

52: R&N: Badgley Beholden

_7 pm, One Saturday Later, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom_

“Tell. Me. _Everything.”_ Maggie’s eyes were wide as saucers as she gaped at Abigael’s glittering gemstone ring. “That ring is _absolutely_ gorge.”

“Well, _uh_ —” Mel began, “I started browsing Etsy awhile ago and found this piece of jewelry. While I waited for the ring to arrive, I contacted Melanija Paradis to commission an original ‘proposal song’ from her. And when both arrived late one evening, I realized I didn’t want to go another few days before proposing. So I woke her up for a morning dance—”

“At _5:53 am_ , to be exact—” specified Abigael, laughing aloud.

“—We danced together to Melanija’s composed song, after which I bent down on one knee, asked Abigael the question _du jour_ —”

“Which brings us to today,” ended Abigael, sweeping a few stray strands of chestnut locks from her porcelain visage, noticing that Mel neglected to mention the highly romantic and altogether sensual cuddling that ensued in the half hour between the proposal itself and her own recitation of the Beau Taplin quote she had committed to memory. _Oh my…Mel’s tongue certainly had a mind of its own, that much was for certain, and if that happening were indication enough, it certainly boded well for the wedding night._

“Great story! Ok then,” replied Maggie, interrupting Abigael’s horny reverie. Maggie opened her laptop on her desk, facing Mel and Abigael, both seated before her as if they were her clients. _In a sense,_ Maggie thought, _they were, as they had taken up her offer to plan their wedding_.

_7:15 pm, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom_

“Have you thought of where you want to get married?” Maggie surveyed the couple closely.

“Vera—Luxury—Manor—Condo,” the pair responded, then looked at each other confused, realizing their answers differed in entirety.

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry,” replied Maggie nonchalantly. “You have the rest of the week to decide. Thing is, you need to zero in on your wedding must-haves. As in, what aspect of your wedding must you have above all? What matters to you _the most_?”

_9 pm, New York Luxury Apartment, Living Room_

Tory was at last sound asleep in bed, her braids unwound, washed, and re-braided in brand-new peridot-colored hair ties. Mel and Abigael emerged wearily from Tory’s bedroom into the lowered mood lighting of the living room, achieved by strategically dimming the overhead light sconces. Mel made her way to the couch and pulled out a piece of paper, giving the other to her fiancée.

 _Fiancée._ The word denoted something _other_ , something _elevated_ —more than a “fling” or a “girlfriend.” The word “partner” had a Spartan, asexual tone that reminded her of TV shows of auditors and consultants who were experiencing a mid-life crisis career change. _Fiancée definitely had a more…sensual connotation than partner,_ as far as Mel was concerned, as she began creating her list of wedding must-haves, per Maggie’s recommendation.

 _Must-Haves_ : Abigael, wedding certificate, family, officiant, food, ambiance

 _That wasn’t so hard, was it?_ Mel thought to herself, before she snuck a peek over Abigael’s shoulder to assess _her_ list:

 _Must-Haves:_ Mel, wedding certificate, Mac Duggal dark feathery black wedding gown, awe-inspiring scenery, family, high-quality alcohol

They silently compared lists. The wedding certificate and food and alcohol aspects were simple enough given Maggie’s organizational and culinary-based skills. Mel hoped, as Morgana had been instrumental in finding their daughter, that she be the officiant, and Abigael agreed. _Family was a given_ , both understood. Looking to Abigael’s list again, the Mac Duggal wedding gown seemed doable enough, assuming she ordered the gown well in advance, with accurate measurements.

 _Ambiance versus awe-inspiring scenery_. _What was the difference, exactly?_ Mel asked herself. She herself wanted a Vera Manor garden wedding to keep with tradition but knew that Abigael was an independent-minded soul who preferred to forge her own path when it came to just about anything. _Was it fair for her to veto Abigael’s preferences, venue-wise?_

 _And the Mac Duggal gown._ Mel should have expected this, but she had recently thumbed through a simple, exquisite _Marchesa Notte_ floral-embroidered ruffle-hem gown, with a sleeveless halter neckline, cinched waistband, and floral print, fading into a long feathery pale pink tulle skirt that resembled an elegant cocktail version of a ballerina tutu. _The dress of her dreams. Which of course, did not match the Mac Duggal gothic theme at all._

_9:30 pm, New York Luxury Apartment, Living Room_

Deep in her thoughts, Mel barely noticed as Abigael made for the kitchen to boil themselves a fresh pot of tea, steeping the herbs for exactly two minutes, as always. “ _Penny for your thoughts, love,”_ Abigael murmured, handing Mel one of the two cups of tea. Mel attempted a smile, but couldn’t; noticing this, Abigael lifted Mel’s low chin upward, so their eyes met _just so_. “Tell me, _Cricket_ , what troubles you?”

Mel took a slow sip of the piping hot beverage. “The ambiance, the scenery, and the gown aspects. To be honest, I always thought I’d get married in Vera Manor or have _something_ there with the ambient tealights— _anything._ To do so would reinforce the bonds of sisterhood that my sisters and I share and hold so dear. And I know that you love your Mac Duggal dress, but I found a _Marchesa Notte_ gown awhile ago that I really like—and it doesn’t match your dress _at all_. And I don’t know how to reconcile this, and I know this wedding is about us, not just me alone, and—” she stopped her voice having risen higher with each syllable, knowing that she was starting to go off on a tangent. “ _And what’s so funny?”_ Mel asked indignantly, noticing a smile quivering on Abigael’s lips.

“Nothing, my Cricket— _nothing at all._ Just that—I think you’re overthinking this,” responded Abigael lightly. “If you want a part of your wedding at Vera Manor Garden _and_ the _Marchesa Notte_ gown, I can’t see why that wouldn’t be possible.”

“What do you mean?” Mel frowned, trying to work out the mental logistics of this heady endeavor.

“I _mean_ , that we could have our wedding here with a perfect view of the cityscape, then portal over to Vera Manor Garden for a late afternoon reception and dance. As for the gown aspect, I found a _Badgley Mischka_ tiered ruffle layered pale beige-gold gown that just _might_ go with your _Marchesa Notte_. Perhaps we could wear those during the ceremony, then portal over, and wear our dark ballgowns as we dance under the tealights of Vera Manor Garden?”

Mel beamed. “I _knew_ there was a reason I fell in love with you,” she stated aloud, kissing her fiancée on the nose affectionately.

_7 pm, One Saturday Later, Vera Manor, Maggie’s Bedroom_

“Venue?” Maggie inquired, her fingers poised above the keyboard.

“Our New York City condo—it offers a perfect view of the city skyline,” Mel offered by way of explanation.

“Attire?” Maggie asked the next question, moving down the wedding checklist.

“Garden chic,” proffered Abigael.

“ _Meaning…_?” Maggie appeared puzzled. _What on earth was “garden-chic”?_

“As in, floral prints of every color and shade welcome,” inserted Mel.

“ _Ah,_ got it. _Keeping things classy, I see,_ ” Maggie commented, as the pair before her nodded.

“Reception venue?”

Mel and Abigael held each other’s hand. “Vera Manor Garden.”

“ _Really?_ ” Maggie looked up at them from her laptop, unsure of whether she heard correctly. “Are you sure, Abigael?” _Please say yes, Abigael_ , she tried to impart telepathically, if such a thing were possible. _It would help us remember Marisol and bring us together as a family._

Abigael assented, turning her gaze toward Mel.

“We figured we’d… _y’know_ …have the best of both worlds,” Mel piped up.

“Indeed,” said Abigael. “We want to wear pastel pink and beige-gold dresses for the ceremony, then portal over to Vera Manor and change into dark ballgowns for the late afternoon reception and dance. Could that work?”

“Yup!” Maggie eagerly responded, glad that Abigael and Mel had come to a consensus, combining _art nouveau_ with customary tradition, the airy and minimalist with black-tie elegance. _This would certainly be a wedding to remember,_ she told herself excitedly, as wheels began turning in her brain, wedding party and nuptial décor being the next items on the list. _So much to do, so little time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abigael's wedding dress: https://www.neimanmarcus.com/p/badgley-mischka-collection-sequin-lace-1-2-sleeve-tiered-ruffle-high-low-gown-prod229780140?utm_source=google_shopping&adpos=&scid=scplpsku192810486&sc_intid=sku192810486&ecid=NMCS__GooglePLA&gclid=CjwKCAjwgdX4BRB_EiwAg8O8HSnPccpqnOwC1bcnDDOj21lzbhRwPmR8msHatlr7uIXE0yCnjsoW8RoC1qQQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds
> 
> Abigael's ballgown: https://www.neimanmarcus.com/p/mac-duggal-feather-embellished-cap-sleeve-dress-prod219660397?utm_source=google_shopping&adpos=&scid=scplpsku185231471&sc_intid=sku185231471&ecid=NMCS__GooglePLA&gclid=Cj0KCQjwpNr4BRDYARIsAADIx9wea_GBgqYHfOH1ZyOBBvvPGTnYMjVhgBlJAbGkKT89BPQm5Qz5meMaArHqEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds
> 
> Mel's wedding dress: https://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/p/marchesa-notte-floral-embroidered-ruffle-hem-halter-gown-prod156200141?ecid=BGCS__GooglePLA&utm_source=google_shopping&adpos=&scid=scplpsku123740046&sc_intid=sku123740046&gclid=CjwKCAjwgdX4BRB_EiwAg8O8HbV-S0LxAdcLLP3i2yHz9khAqMutZAydVV97xEWKmRXf6f7O0M99QBoCUyIQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds
> 
> Mel's ballgown: https://www.hebeos.com/ball-gown-off-the-shoulder-sleeveless-floor-length-lace-satin-dresses-po16033po998.html?ref=googleplaus&gclid=Cj0KCQjwpNr4BRDYARIsAADIx9w304nB0IK3jPucGOFIDEwtcto06nzlhmVXOst4GC3GJqlSZ-8dbIsaAi8hEALw_wcB


	53. R&N*H2M3V: Welcome to Forever

53: R&N*H2M3V: Welcome to Forever

_5 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“Please begin the recitation of your handwritten vows,” Morgana peered expectantly at Mel and Abigael as the wedding attendees looked on in rapt earnest ( _except for Matilda, who began howling, forcing Harry to dash themselves to a nearby room lest she drown out her aunts_ ).

“In the words of Rumi,” began Abigael, “out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.”

In response, Mel replied with the following Pablo Neruda quote. “I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

 _Was this really happening?_ Abigael thought to herself. The Vera-Valensi family had crashed at her apartment for an overnight sleepover and late morning brunch ( _Harry always did make the loveliest tea and waffles)_. Her fingers grasped at the sequined lace of her _Badgley Mischka_ tiered ruffled gown, as she regarded _her_ Cricket, exquisite as ever in her _Marchesa Notte_ floral embroidered ruffle-hem halter dress. Both ladies wore _Hebeos-_ designed floral-and-pearl hairpieces on one side of their messy low-braided buns ( _Tory had accidentally startled everyone by releasing Midnight the pony again)_. Mel’s was composed of silken snowdrop blossoms and pearlescent Baby’s breath blooms; Abigael’s resembled a laurel crown, its leaves represented by tiny pearl orbs dotted around her chestnut hair. Their daughter Tory and niece Maya were flower girls, impeccably-dressed in floral dresses dotted with delicate rhinestones; the top of their sleeveless dresses had a pink-and-gold floral print, turning downward into a mishmash of gold glitter and pink, followed by white tulle for a most ballerina-like appearance, _even if they were dervishes most of the time_ , she thought to herself with a smile.

_5:05 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

“I, Abigael Jameson-Caine, take thee, Melonie Vera, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better,” Abigael began tearing up, “for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. _How long had she dreamt of this moment, never once believing that she, too, could one day have her happily-ever-after?_

“And you?” Morgana turned to Mel, who for once was most decidedly _not_ shifting her weight or otherwise fidgeting. _She knew that this was their destiny, from the moment Abigael left her those years ago post-potions, when she cried for her to come back—and she had, finally, in her own time._

“I, Melonie Vera, take thee, Abigael Jameson-Caine, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.” Mel’s eyes set upon her wife’s. _Her wife’s._

They exchanged wedding rings, then Abigael presented Mel with a second ring, in a lovely diamond cluster style, that resembled a constellation of stars, which she slid upon Mel’s left ring finger. “ _Under these stars, all of my dreams came true,”_ she whispered in Mel’s ear.

“You may now kiss your bride,” announced Morgana. _And so they did_ ; as Mel’s lips enveloped Abigael’s, they inhaled each other’s floral and clove-scented perfumes. Mel’s hand cupped the nape of Abigael’s neck, drawing her all the more closer for the next thirty seconds, which seemed to wedding attendees to be but an eternity.

 _“Damn,_ now _that’s_ what I call a kiss, _”_ Jordan faintly muttered, impressed as he regarded Maggie, who sat beside him.

“Yeah,” responded Maggie. Though she could have shouted at them to get a room ( _as she nearly always did with Macy and Harry_ ), she chose, in this moment, to keep her mouth shut. _Just this once._

_5:15 pm, New York Luxury Apartment_

After a beautiful duet by Macy and Maggie, the ceremony was officially complete; Matias ambled across the living room to the upstairs loft, where he and Harry would begin transporting and alternatively portaling guests to the reception location, Vera Manor Garden.

_6 pm, New York Luxury Apartment to Vera Manor Garden_

After dropping into spiraling darkness, akin to Alice in Wonderland, Macy regained her footing, walking slowly, feeling her way through the pitch-black path with the palms of her hands touching the tunnel’s surprisingly smooth, polished edges. Where was she? Where was this path taking her? Suddenly, her right foot made abrupt contact with an ancient, rough-hewn door overgrown with inveigling ivy branches. She stopped in her tracks, realizing that the tunnel had announced its unceremonious end.

Without hesitating, she turned the doorknob, which creaked ever-so-slightly, and stepped into what she recognized to be Vera Manor Garden, with its blooming gardenias and greenery. She noticed that there were more verdant flora and fauna about; astonished, she observed a row of emerging ginger root along with orange tree buds on the cusp of blossoming, that would someday bear sweet, aromatic fruit. The scent of honey, cardamom, and turmeric wafted through the air, and she made a mental note to thank Morgana profusely—perhaps bake her zucchini chocolate chip bread from the courgettes in her Epicenter Pico No. 23 front yard—for being so kind to her sister Mel, and sister-in-law Abigael. _Who were now married. Like, legitimately so. With a daughter, no less._

Macy heard a rustle from the gardenia bushes. She instinctively froze, wondering if a monster was looming beneath the veneer of this indomitable summer paradise. But—no. She smiled and with outstretched arms, met the small sprinting figure of her spritely little girl Maya, who kissed her on the cheek and burrowed her curls into Macy’s slim shoulder. She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and turned around. Her husband, Harry. They kissed, and he motioned as if to follow him behind what she recognized to be her she-shed, where lay an addition of greenery to the already-thriving Vera Manor Garden. She noticed a sudden proliferation of pearl, ecru, coconut milk, and opalescent blossoms in one corner, and she wondered who those could possibly have come from; it resembled a Banksy-style arrangement, only with flowers as white as snow.

 _“Henry and Matilda have been enjoying their nap with Daddy,”_ Harry whispered, pointing to an infant boy and girl in a white bassinet, both of whom had familiar curly locks of hair and marble-grey celestial eyes.

_7 pm, Vera Manor Garden_

After a most delicious dinner organized by Maggie and Morgana’s chef friends from the Azores, Mel and Abigael rose from their seats for their first dance; Mel sported an elegant off-the-shoulder emerald green floor-length satin ballgown, a tongue-in-cheek reference to her _Cricket_ moniker, while Abigael displayed her seductively entrancing Mac Duggal trumpet-sleeve gown that reminded Mel of the movie “ _Black Swan.”_ The song was “Welcome to Forever,” a Melanija Paradis original.

Once the first stanza was complete, Mel and Abigael beckoned their daughter Tory to join in the dance; she eagerly ran in, her braids flying, as she clasped their hands tightly and swayed back and forth to the music. _Welcome to forever, indeed._

_Welcome to Forever—Melanija Paradis_

_We met so long ago_

_Efficient at potions, we all know_

_Lovely and bright your crying Iris eyes_

_Comely form, you met me those Scheherazade nights._

_Over the snowing cityscape I used to dream,_

_Me and you, that we’d be a charming team,_

_Ever after, Cricket’s forever words_

_To you—to me,_

_Open hearts, where love came free._

_Fiery Balto dreams and_

_Olive-hued child,_

_Resplendent together and ever-wild,_

_Expecting, accepting your Taplin heart to carry Rumi’s mine,_

_Vera, Jameson, the family line._

_Eternity beckons galore,_

_Richness de la vie—forevermore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bridesmaid dresses:https://www.bhldn.com/products/honesty-flower-dress?gclid=Cj0KCQjwpNr4BRDYARIsAADIx9yieG53MfYjcMgfj-Kx3aVXuIBJLNstGMX9zrDRVAYmvh4Gv-m6HD8aAtCDEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds
> 
> Flower girl dresses: https://www.steinmart.com/product/girls+2t-4t+embroidered+floral+fit+%26+flare+dress+73726416.do?pup_e=1&pup_cid=137610&pup_id=73726507&kid=f729f644-ca45-4681-a07a-f96dff9fd469&utm_source=google&utm_medium=&utm_content=&utm_campaign=&camp=ppc:google:Smart%7CPLA%7CKids:Non-Brand:&utm_id=go_cmp-9336016702_adg-89579056450_ad-418033709020_pla-297629293348_dev-m_ext-_prd-73726507&gclid=Cj0KCQjwpNr4BRDYARIsAADIx9wr5KZdZR9Vf90KQS_ErmgvBv8w0RKd29JYKmCFGxJAvq7Ae4ctzKcaAoiFEALw_wcB
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! And props to @wonderwall_mp4 for their comments, much appreciated!  
> Keep an eye out for the next Stelliform Chronicles installment, which will focus on Maggie and Jordan's relationship. It'll start out dark humor-y/grim, but there will be a happy ending, I promise <3 Feel free to find me on Reddit, FF, and Wattpad, where I've recently entered #wattys2020.


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